A Drop in the Ocean
by Sinister Papaya Fondue
Summary: During the Triwizard Tournament, Karkaroff realizes that Snape is a true double agent. Can Severus avoid the fate reserved for traitors? And can the tangled web of a Death Eater's life be undone without consequences? 5th year AU, SS/HG, LM/OFC.
1. Visitors

A sleek black car sped by, betrayed only by the quick glint of a streetlamp against its polished finish. It was obvious that its occupant cared nothing for the speed limit. Out here, where there was nothing but wilderness on either side of the two-lane road, it was relatively high – seventy or so. But the black coupe seemed to be going almost double that. The car left a cloud of dry dust and dead grass lingering in the Indian-summer air behind it.

The volume of the stereo within was such that it would cause an immediate complaint from anyone over the age of thirty-five. The choice of music was, to say the least, eclectic. But all in all, the car – its speed, color, volume, and intimidation factor – seemed to mesh well with the driver.

She was skinny but full, muscled but not so much as to seem masculine. Her skin was flawless and tinged with bronze, thanks both to genetics and a good amount of time in the sun. Her features were pleasing in an Eastern European sort of way; angled, dark, half-exotic. Generally, though, what captivated people most was her hair – it was the deepest, darkest black, so black it seemed blue under the right lighting, and thick, curling very slightly in all the right places. Right now, it was pulled back into a loose, sloppy, and thoroughly attractive braid that sat over her right shoulder like a length of rope. She was enchanting, or so her ex-boyfriend had always told her.

He wasn't far from the truth, in a literal sense. But Russia certainly had enough problems, and she needn't create more by drawing attention to herself.

Of course, being who she was, she would never settle for anonymity. Not in both worlds, anyway. So here, in the hot, humid, war-torn recesses of a collapsed country, she embraced her Mother's half.

She was a bartender, reputed to be the best south of Moscow. So good, in fact, that she really only worked on holidays and during the summer. She'd read magazine articles about herself – all of them cited her 'sixth sense', her ability to give a person exactly what they wanted the most within the confines of a glass. And, of course, her mystery ingredient; it had at one time aroused suspicion, but now that everyone saw that it was harmless, it was her legacy. It was simple, really. The mystery ingredient was what made each drink taste exactly how the consumer liked it. Though the Russians were not difficult to figure out; for most of them, plain vodka was fine. She chuckled to herself, not even hearing the small expression of mirth over the stereo. Every bartender could use a good lesson in Potions.

It wasn't her talent with alcohol that made the people love her so much, though. It was her generosity with money. She could easily wind up with a thousand dollars stuffed in her bra in the course of one night, if the right people were present and properly inebriated. But she took only what she needed to pay her bills; she lived in the same dingy, run down flats that everyone else did. The only luxuries she'd afforded herself were this car and her cell phone. She gave all the excess to the hospitals or schools. They needed it much more than she did.

She was a star of sorts. People always eyed her with awe and reverence when she stood in the lines with them, waiting for whatever the authorities had been able to secure a large shipment of. And often, even then, after two hours in the line in heat so thick that not even the mosquitoes ventured out, she wound up giving that commodity away to the single mother with six children to care for, or the old man who was utterly alone and too crippled to get out to do proper shopping. They always wanted her to keep it, but she turned them down gently, knowing that their need was greater. Besides, if she really needed it, she had a wand.

Admittedly, this selfless behavior generated a bit more attention than she was comfortable with. Cameras were often catching her at very unflattering moments, and the tabloid headlines became more and more outrageous. She remembered once laughing out loud at a particularly bawdy cover – a fuzzy picture of her staring into space with a pair of white wings very obviously pasted to it, the headline screaming: 'GALINA DMITROV, ANGEL IN DISGUISE!!!' And then the next week, the same tabloid, declaring boldly on its cover: 'GALINA – SPY FOR THE KGB!!!' Ah yes, and nothing topped the offer extended to her by a rather reputable, if not sleazy American magazine – twelve pages of her nude, and a centerfold featuring her doing some blushworthy things with a hammer and sickle.

She had actually considered it, simply because she knew it would annoy the piss out of her brother. But in the end she'd turned them down, not entirely comfortable with the thought of thousands of men staring wantonly at her naked body. She'd done smaller jobs though, modeling for cosmetics or hair-care companies. Even those brief appearances, once they reached him, earned her a few of the quietest, deadliest, and by far most amusing Howlers she'd ever received.

She knew she shouldn't taunt him like that, but she hated when he was so overprotective. She was the older of the two, albeit only by a few minutes, but that still made her the one in charge. She had always been the protector, and she wasn't about to burden her brother with worry over yet another person. No, if there was one thing he didn't need, it was to be preoccupied with stress over his sister's safety. Still, he always made her prove herself. And every time she went to visit, she kicked his ass. In the most loving way possible, of course. Although, lately, she was getting the feeling that he was letting her win.

That was where she was headed now. She didn't know what had possessed her to drive all the way to the border. An airplane – hell, Apparating – would get her there much faster. But she loved her car, and it rarely got a good workout. And it would give her time to think.

She sighed, glancing at her gas gauge. She'd have to stop soon and fill it up. The fluorescent green of a faded sign caught her eye, and she hit the brake for the exit. There might not be another for miles, so she was inclined to take advantage of this sudden arrival of civilization.

Galina sighed as she pulled into a badly lit gas station. A turbaned Sikh man smiled lazily at her, waving his hand to indicate that it was self-serve. She smiled back, staggering a little as she unfolded herself from the driver's seat. A good stretch was in order, and by the time she was finished, the Sikh had ambled over and engaged her in conversation.

"This is a very nice car," he said in the local dialect, a random concoction of Russian and Arabic.

"Da," she answered. "The object of my affections."

"Pity for all the men out there."

She laughed, tossing her braid behind her and bending to pump the gas.

"Perhaps there is room for one of them in here, too," she replied, tapping just under her left collarbone. The man smiled and chuckled, folding his arms, yet another victim to Galina Dmitrov's charm.

"Do you need anything else?" he asked. "Windshield wash, oil, air, cigarettes?"

"No, thank you," she said, replacing the gas pump and then tending to the car. "But I do appreciate it."

"Any time," he nodded.

"Here you go," she said, handing over a crumpled handful of money. She slipped back into the car and started it, gunning the engine briefly and smiling to herself as she noticed the man's shocked reaction in the rearview mirror. She had given him about ten times what she owed.

She put it in drive and pulled away, waiting patiently in the driveway for a creaky, plodding truck to go by. She was about to slam her foot onto the accelerator when there was a flash of unmistakable green light and two words that chilled her blood reached her ears.

_"Avada kedavra!"___

She tilted the rearview mirror, her heart pounding. The Sikh man was on the ground, supine and unmoving. She knew she should just drive away. But, as it had many times before in such circumstances, her anger got the better of her.

Galina slammed the car into park and turned it off. She kicked open the door, procuring her wand seemingly out of thin air. The scowl on her face made her look decidedly menacing as she made her way to the dead man. She bent at the knee, taking his pulse without looking at him. Nothing. Her hand clenched around her wand.

"Come out, Death Eater!" she called acidly, standing. "Or are you afraid to show yourself without your Master?"

"No," the answer came from behind her. "But I must regain my Master's good graces, and you, dear Selena, are my trump card."

She whirled, and instantly her anger inflated another notch.

"Karkaroff, you bloody coward!" she practically screamed. "That is not my name out here, and I will thank you not to use it."

"Ashamed?" he sneered.

"No. In one world I have one name, and in the other, a different one."

"Why do you hide in the world of Muggles, Selena?"

"I do not hide. I simply make use of my abilities in the most constructive place. Don't press me, Karkaroff," she warned darkly. "You know why I do what I do. Don't pretend otherwise."

"I pretend nothing, Selena. Did you think we wouldn't find you out here?"

"Karkaroff, you FOOL! Voldemort won't forgive you, no matter what you do. Frankly, I'm amazed you're still alive!"

"How dare you use the Master's name with such impudence!" the Death Eater roared.

"How dare you kill innocent men for sport!" she returned.

They raised their wands at the exact same moment.

"This is pointless, Karkaroff. Snap out of it. Unless you get help, you're a dead man."

The Death Eater growled, his eyes becoming wilder.

"You know I'm right!" she continued. Her heart was beating wildly, hammering against her ribcage. If she could just talk him out of this…

"You speak poison, just like your brother!" he snarled. "I know what he is, Selena, and what he's doing."

"Voldemort will not believe a word you say. This campaign for revenge will gain you nothing but a more painful death!"

"If I must die," Karkaroff said, brandishing his wand, "then I will at least have the pleasure of destroying your bloodline first!"

And, with that, the battle of spells began.

_"Stupefy!"_

But she had already Apparated by the time the white bolt reached the place where she had been standing.

Karkaroff spent only a moment cursing fluently in as many languages as he knew. In mid-sentence an idea came to him, a perfectly ingenious plan that would not involve him sticking his neck out at all. In a second he, too, Apparated, leaving the dreary gas station and its deceased owner in an uneasy peace.

Far, far away, Lucius Malfoy nearly fell out of his chair when Karkaroff appeared on his desk.

* * *

Galina – well, she supposed she could properly call herself Selena now, as she was far from the world of Muggles – appeared in a soggy moor, shivering instantly. She was not at all dressed for the cooler climate of Great Britain. Stupid, bloody Karkaroff.

Putting him out of her mind for the moment, she raised her wand and performed a directional spell. Hmm…she was about two hours south of Hogwarts. Two hours easily covered in a drastically different form.

Where there had been a woman, there was now a panther. Black, sleek, beautiful, with stunningly blue eyes. It had been a long time since she had indulged this area of her abilities, and it felt positively wonderful to open up to a full sprint on the soggy grasslands that stretched before her.

* * *

As she emerged from the Forbidden Forest, she reclaimed her human form. She did not notice the cool air now, as her body was warmed by the long run. She walked casually, a smile curling her lips as she thought of the incredible food and drink that would be waiting in the Great Hall. It had been nearly eight hours since she last ate…

There was a barely audible rustle. It snapped her out of her thoughts and her muscles tensed automatically. Christ, had Karkaroff followed her here? It was a very stupid thing to do…

She caught a movement with the corner of her eye. She nearly forgot to breathe. _Something_ was out here. Her pace doubled, becoming a run. If she reached the doors, she would be fine. The doors…

A black, man-sized obstacle sprung into her path, so suddenly that she lost her footing when she tried to avoid it. She tried to get up, but bony hands held her down by her shoulders. She tried kicking but couldn't seem to hit anything, and as she struggled, her eyes caught sight of the hands that pressed her so painfully to the dewy grass. Grey. Slimy. Scabby. Rotten skin stretched thinly over bone.

Dementor…!!!

She could not help but scream as it pushed back its hood. It leaned low, ignoring her struggling, its hole of a mouth opening…

At the last second, she became a panther again. She clawed at it savagely, knocking off its head and darting away as fast as she could. But not fast enough to avoid the claws of the beheaded Dementor, which sunk deeply into her flank before she escaped its grasp.

She didn't even feel it. There were more of them now, swooping down onto the wide lawn, coming at her from all sides. She ran as fast as she could, darting around, under, or even _through_ the monsters. The doors were in sight, oh gods, the doors!!!

The black streak covered the rest of the lawn, the Dementors following like a flood of decay. Up the stairs, to the great wooden doors…! She clawed frantically at the wood, leaving deep score marks.

_Someone, someone help! Open the door! _

The panther tilted its head up and let out a roar, and unmistakable sound somewhere between the deep rumble of a lion and the screech of a wolverine.

* * *

"I'm _sooo_ hungry…" Ron whined, staring pathetically at his plate.

"I hope Dumbledore has no exciting announcements to spring on us this year," Harry said, frowning. "I couldn't stand it if I had to go another year without Quidditch."

"We'll be lucky if we have Quidditch at all this year, what with You-Know-Who," Fred Weasley said miserably.

Harry frowned intensely, tuning himself out of the conversation. He never could help the feeling that this was all his fault, regardless of whether his friends said it out loud or not. He knew Fred hadn't meant anything, but the stab of guilt flared up anyway. He sighed, turning his gaze to Hermione. Strangely enough, she was staring up at the Teacher's table, her brows slightly drawn. He thought for a moment that she was trying to find the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, but after following her gaze, he realized that she was staring at Professor Snape. Severus Snape, the least popular man at Hogwarts, if you didn't include the Slytherins in the polling.

"He looks tired, doesn't he," she said, aware of Harry's appraisal. "Like a gust of wind could knock him over."

"If only," Harry muttered. Hermione gave him a sharp look.

"You know what he's been doing since June," she said. "It can't be easy."

"No, but that doesn't make me feel sorry for him. And I'm willing to bet that it won't make him go any easier on us."

Hermione shook her head, her posture slumping slightly.

"I wonder what made him become a Death Eater in the first place."

"I don't know, but it's his own fault."

"You don't know that," she said.

"Since when do you care about Snape's welfare?" Harry asked, giving in to his annoyance. "Don't you remember what he said to you last year, when Malfoy hit you with that hex before Potions?!"

"Of course I do," she said, her tone equally as annoyed. "But _look _at him, Harry."

He spared the Potions Master another glance. Hermione was right; he did look sickly, moreso than usual. Paler, thinner, hollow-eyed…and perhaps a bit more vacant. Like he hadn't slept in a month. Like he'd seen things that had permanently driven the color from his cheeks. There was not even a hint of his telltale glare circulating the room. Snape seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, which was a state that one almost never caught him in, _especially_ not in public.

"Hermione," he said, after a minute's contemplation of the head of Slytherin House, "sure, he looks terrible. But he's Snape. He's mean for a reason, and that reason is probably a lot worse than anything he's seen lately."

"I suppose you're right," she conceded. "I just…didn't expect it to change him. I…thought his skin was thick enough."

"Your skin is never thick enough with Voldemort," Harry replied, and both of them knew there was no truer statement.

They sat in silence for the remainder of the sorting, listening to Fred, George, and Ron prattle on about Quidditch and food. When the hat was finally done, Dumbledore stood and raised a hand to quiet the immediate blossom of voices.

"I would like to welcome you all to Hogwarts for yet another year. As I am sure you are all hungry, I will not prolong your starvation with too many announcements. I wish only to say that the first Quidditch match of the season will be on September 27, Ravenclaw versus Slytherin. And also, fourteen more items have been added to the list of Banned---"

The entire hall rippled with whispers as Dumbledore stopped abruptly. It quickly became clear why he had halted when a great pounding sounded from the Main Hall, followed closely by a muffled roar.

The tense silence was broken by a loud crash. Severus Snape had shot out of his chair so quickly that he knocked it over. He exchanged a long glance with Dumbledore.

The pounding sounded again. This time it was accompanied by a shrill scream that evoked a shiver in every person in the Hall.

_"SEVERUS!!!"_

At that Snape vaulted over the table and jumped the five or so feet that raised the Teacher's table from the rest of the Hall. He set off down the middle aisle, between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, at a dead sprint - faster than anyone in the Hall would believe an isolated slip of a man like Snape capable of. They were even more shocked when Dumbledore followed on his heels, blowing by as fast as Snape had, completely unheeding of his age.

Hermione rocketed to her feet, obviously intent on seeing what was happening. Harry and Ron followed suit, as did many others, only to be halted by Professor McGonagall's authoritative voice.

"Stay where you are! You will remain seated until the Headmaster returns!"

They didn't dare disobey her, not when she used _that_ tone of voice. Harry, Ron, and Hermione reluctantly returned to their seats, each of them fervently wishing for the Invisibility Cloak that had made them an audience to so many secretive happenings at Hogwarts in the past few years. Their curiosity was sated, however, by the boom of Dumbledore's voice.

_"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"_

"The Patronus spell!" Harry hissed to Ron and Hermione. "There are Dementors out there!"

"I thought they weren't allowed on school grounds!" Hermione shot back in a fervent whisper. "How could they have gotten past the safeguards?!"

A second later, the boom of the doors closing announced the end of the conflict. Dumbledore strode quickly back into the Hall, Snape just behind him. He had his arm around the waist of an unknown woman, his shoulder bent so her arm could curl around him. He was supporting her almost entirely, partly because her right thigh looked as though it had been clawed to shreds, and partly because she was crying hysterically, her face buried in Snape's neck. For the second time in one night, his expression stunned the trio that was so intent on hating him.

It was as if his features couldn't decide between uncontrollable rage, paralyzing fear, and absolute relief.

"Poppy," Dumbledore said needlessly. Madame Pomfrey was already halfway down the aisle. The school nurse tried to put a levitation spell on the woman so she would not have to put any weight on the bad leg, but no matter what Madame Pomfrey did, she would not let go of Snape. And, not unexpectedly, Snape's cold glare told the well-meaning witch to back off. Instead, he bent slightly and picked the woman up, gesturing to Madame Pomfrey with a nod of his head. Before anyone had a moment to process all this, the three of them were gone.

"Never a dull moment," Ron said dryly, and most of the Gryffindors nodded. They watched as Dumbledore made his way back up to his usual spot on the table. Harry could barely quell the combination of curiosity and annoyance that rose in him as Dumbledore continued his speech where he'd left off, not saying a single word about what had just happened.

"Ten o'clock," Hermione whispered in his ear. "We'll meet in the Common Room."

Harry nodded and leaned over to tell Ron.


	2. The Call

A/N – Just a quick note about the Russian in this chapter – suka means bitch and shto means what.  With that inspiring preface out of the way (lol), here's Chapter 2.

"We're getting too big for us all to fit under this cloak," Ron whined.  He was quite smushed between Harry and Hermione.

            "Come off it, Ron," Hermione said, elbowing him.  "Next time I'll be in the middle.  We're almost there anyway."

            "Shhh," Harry interrupted, giving both of them a look.  They slipped through the half-open door of the infirmary in single-file, moving very slowly so as not to trip and reveal themselves.  A candle burned at the very end of the row of beds.  They settled themselves directly across from the curtained cubicle and strained to hear the hurried whispers that punctuated the silent room.

            The first voice was definitely the woman's.  She spoke quickly, the words flowing together without pause.  Certain syllables were stressed harshly, and they could tell that she was angry.  

            It took another minute of trying to decipher what she was saying for them to realize that they couldn't understand.

            "They're not speaking English!" Ron whispered.  "No fair!"

            The second voice cut in.  It was definitely Snape – there was no mistaking his voice, no matter what language he was speaking.  His tone was calmer than hers, but no less acidic.

            "What language do you reckon that is, Hermione?" Harry asked.  

            She frowned, concentrating on it for a few more moments.

            "I think it's Russian, or some type of Slavic language."

            "And do you know any of it?" Ron asked.

            "No.  Only little things, like yes and no and thank you."

            "Niet!" the woman said suddenly, her voice rising.  She continued on another tirade, gradually quieting until they could barely hear her pitched whispers once again.

            "Do you know what that meant?" Harry enquired.  "The thing she yelled?"

            Hermione nodded.

            "Niet is no in Russian."

            "It sounds like they're having a fight," Ron observed.

            "Well this is useless…we can't understand a word they're saying.  We should go before we get caught.  Snape has a nasty habit of knowing when we're out like this," Harry sighed.

            "I think he's otherwise occupied," Hermione said.  "You saw that look on his face, didn't you?"

            Harry and Ron nodded.

            "We need to find out who this girl is," Harry said.  "And why the Dementors were after her."

            "Maybe you should just ask Dumbledore or McGonagall tomorrow," Ron suggested.  "Because we certainly aren't going to learn anything here."

            "I'm sure there's a spell to make you understand other languages," Hermione said, her eyes already taking on the glazed appearance they always got when she was formulating an idea.  Particularly one that involved the library.

            "Let's go," Harry said, nudging the two of them forward.

            "Wait…" Ron whispered.  "Did she just say Karkaroff?"

            They all froze, listening intently.  It sounded something like this to their ears:

            "Bla bla bla blablabla blaaaa bla Voldemort blalala blaaa…"

            "I don't know if she said Karkaroff but she _definitely_ just said something about Voldemort," Harry said.

            "Library!" Hermione whispered fervently.  "If we're quick enough they might still be talking when we get back!"

            They were almost to the door when another person brushed into the room, and they narrowly managed to avoid him.  He did cast them a look, though, one that could only be described as loving disapproval.

            "_How_ does he see through this thing?" Ron asked.

            "I don't know, but he's letting us stay!" Harry replied, tugging the three of them back towards the bed in the corner.

            "Albus," the woman's voice rose, "I am so sorry to have disturbed you and the students during the Feast."

            "Nonsense, Selena.  If disturbing us means saving your life, disturb all you want."

            "I hope I didn't scare anyone," she said with a sigh.

            "The children are used to strange happenings here," Dumbledore said, a chuckle in his words.  "I think the only ones you really scared were myself and Severus, perhaps Minerva."

            "I can't believe I got hysterical like that.  But those Dementors…I swear, Albus, I thought my life was over."

            "Your fear is quite justified, my dear.  Although I must ask, why were they after you?"

            "I have no idea!" she exclaimed.  "I was telling Severus…"

            "Here it comes," Harry whispered.

            "…I was driving to the border.  Stupid, I know, but I like my car, and I didn't see the harm in it.  When I got there I was going to leave it with a friend and Apparate to just outside the school grounds.  So I was about halfway to the border when I stopped for gas.  I was about to pull out when _Karkaroff_ popped up and killed the gas station attendant!"

            "With the curse?" Dumbledore asked.

            "Yes, the killing curse.  I probably should have just driven away, but…it made me so angry!"

            "Did you face him?"

            "Yes.  He told me he was going to get back into Voldemort's graces by bringing me to him."

            "I don't understand that," Snape said.  "Selena has never been involved with the Death Eaters.  What good would she be?  Why would Voldemort want her?"

            "I don't understand it either," she agreed.

            "Perhaps, Severus, to get to you?"

            There was a silence.  Then Snape spoke again, his voice somewhat softer than before.

            "Albus, I have given that creature no indication of my disloyalty.  I am very careful in my work." 

            "I have no doubt of that, Severus, but even the best of spies are eventually ferreted out, through circumstance or otherwise."

            "How could Karkaroff know?"

            "Perhaps he discovered something during the Tri-Wizard Tournament?"

            "There was nothing left out for him to discover."

            "You were…friends, were you not?"

            "A long time ago."

            "Maybe he has simply put two and two together.  You are here, with me, after all."

            "That's where I'm _supposed_ to be.  They think I'm a spy for them, too!"

            "Perhaps," Dumbledore said, his voice distant and full of thought, "it is the simple fact that you have never tried to harm or kill Harry Potter.  After all, what faithful Death Eater would stay his hand if he had such easy access to the boy who destroyed his Master?"

            "That is _your_ risk, Albus.  You _know_ I did not want the boy to come here."

            "He's done all right, though, hasn't he."

            "Oh, yes, he's been grand.  He is directly responsible for most of the disasters at this school and he single-handedly managed to bring back the Dark Lord.  Positively grand," Snape snarled, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

            "Oh, Severus, shut up," the woman said sharply.  "It's not like the poor kid wants it to be that way.  He didn't get to choose what he was born into, just like you and I didn't."

            "I like her already," Ron whispered.

            "Bringing that boy to this school was like leaving matches next to a puddle of kerosene, Selena, and you know it!"

            "Are you and he really so different, Severus?  I really don't like these holier-than-thou attitude trips you're having lately.  Did you learn _nothing_ from the past?  That boy is in danger, Severus, and I would think that you would be doing anything you could to insure that he doesn't turn out like you."

            _"Suka_,_"_ Snape muttered.  They could almost picture his glare – eyes narrowed and blazing, lips twisted into a menacing scowl.

            "Severus!  Selena!" Dumbledore said, a touch louder than his usual comforting volume.  "Squabbling will get us nowhere.  I would have thought you would have grown out of that by now."

            "This is driving me insane!" Hermione whispered.  "_Who is she?"_

            "Some things never change," Snape said under his breath.

            She returned with something in Russian, most likely a curse or insult.

            "I'm in love with her," Harry said half-jokingly.  "To be able to boss Snape around like that!"

            "I think I am too," Ron agreed.

            "Now, Selena, you have not finished your story.  Do continue," Dumbledore said calmly, ignoring the heated tempers around him. 

            "Yes…Karkaroff.  He seemed to think that I was hiding from something, I don't know what.  I thought he was just crazy.  He certainly looked it."

            "The Death Eaters are searching for him.  I am amazed that he is still alive," Snape said.

            "Here's what really scared me, though.  He brought you up, Severus.  He said something like: 'I know what he is, and what he's doing'.  I didn't know how to take that, but I really, really hope he wasn't referring to…"

            "So do I," Dumbledore said gravely.

            "He tried to stun me, but I Apparated.  I didn't have much time to fix on a location, so I wound up about two hours south of here.  I changed into my animal form so I could run most of the way…"

            "She's an Animagus!" Hermione whispered excitedly.  "That explains the roar we heard."

            "…and just as I was crossing the lawn, a Dementor jumped out at me and pinned me down.  It…it was going to…" she paused for a moment, taking a shaky breath.  "But I changed again and ran away.  There had to have been twenty of them, Albus.  They were everywhere, everywhere I tried to run…Finally I broke through and made it to the doors.  And you know the rest."

            "And you haven't any idea why the Dementors attacked you?"

            "None."

            "I would say that I would have a word with Cornelius Fudge…but lately, he and I do not see eye to eye."

            "It's all right," she said.  "I know I'm safe here.  I always knew that there was a possibility that I'd get in trouble with them.  Death Eaters I can handle, but Dementors…gods, they give me the creeps."

            "Death Eaters are just Dementors with a few extra emotions," Snape said quietly.  There was a rustle of sheets and a smattering of quiet Russian.  A moment later, a gasp of pain.

            _"Shto?"_

            Then Snape's voice, low and icy.

            "He's calling."


	3. Unlikely Friends

            "I needn't tell you to be careful, Severus," Dumbledore said.

            "No, you needn't," was the response, cold but somehow weary.

            "Do what you can, but watch your back.  I do not like this news of Karkaroff."

            "They will kill him the moment he dares to show his face."

            "You know what he is best at, Severus.  Ratting out his companions."

            "Then perhaps I will have to take the forefront in assuring that he is silenced."

            "I am sorry," Dumbledore said softly.  "I know you don't---"

            "Oh, honestly, Albus, what is one more?" he snapped.  "I'd be doing the world a service."

            A heavy sigh from Dumbledore.

            "Check in with me when you return," the Headmaster said resignedly.

            "Of course," Snape said, stepping out of the cubicle.

            "Good luck, Sev."

            Selena's voice followed him all the way out of the Infirmary, and the three huddled under the cloak could have sworn they saw a look akin to pain on his face.

            "Well," Dumbledore said, after Snape had disappeared from the room.  "I think we've had enough excitement for one day."

            "I agree.  I do have one question, though."

            "Oh?"

            "Who are those three in the corner under the Invisibility Cloak?"

            Harry, Ron, and Hermione all blanched as Dumbledore gave a deep chuckle.

            "Our local mischief mongers," the old mage said, sticking his head out of the cubicle and looking directly at them.  "Come over here, you three.  You should be properly introduced."

            "How does she _know_?" Harry whispered.

            "It's a conspiracy!" Ron whined.

            "Come on, don't poke about," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling with laughter.

            Harry sighed and glanced at his companions.  Simultaneously, they threw the cloak off and shuffled over to the cubicle, their cheeks burning.

            "Wow," Ron whispered as Dumbledore herded them into the cubicle.  It was the first look they had gotten at her face and they were not disappointed.

            "These three know the ropes," Selena said, warmly.  "What are you, fourth or fifth years?"

            "Fifth," Harry said sheepishly.  She tilted her head to the side, looking at him closely.  A familiar surge of annoyance rose in Harry's chest.  This was the part where his new acquaintance figured out who he was and spent five minutes marveling over it.  Though his hair was covering his scar, he could see recognition in her eyes.

            "Harry Potter," she said, the corners of her lips rising in a very slight smile.  "You look quite a bit like your father, but I'm sure you hear that all the time."

            He nodded.

            "Did you know him?"

            "Oh yes, I went to school with him.  And judging by your late-night wanderings, " she said, smirking, "you have quite a bit of him in you."

            Harry looked at the floor and blushed.  This woman seemed to see right through him, and he felt mildly ashamed for being annoyed with her.

            "Who are your friends?" she asked after another moment.

            "This is Hermione Granger," he said, gesturing to his right.  "And this is Ron Weasley."

            "I can shamefully say that I have heard of both of you, thanks to unhealthy addictions to The Daily Prophet and Witch's Weekly.  Ridiculous, the things they write about people," she said, winking at Hermione.

            "It's been quiet lately, though," Dumbledore said, casting a sideways glance at the young witch.  "I suppose somebody finally found out how to best Rita Skeeter."

            Both Ron and Harry turned to stare at Hermione.

            "Haven't you let her go yet, 'Mione?" Ron asked.

            "No," she said, crossing her arms over her chest and giving him an impassive glare.  Selena laughed, which returned all of their glances to her.

            "I think you'll find, boys, that once you invoke a woman's wrath, it takes a long, long time to cool.  You keep that awful woman locked up wherever you have her, Miss Granger."

            "I will," Hermione said, breaking into a smile.

            "Don't encourage them, Selena, dear.  They've already broken every rule in the book," Dumbledore said, grinning and wagging a finger in a mock gesture of reprobation.

            "Not _every_ one, I'm sure.  But they still have time."

            "Indeed," the old wizard said, raising an eyebrow.  "You've let me forget my manners.  Harry, Ron, Hermione…meet Ms. Selena Snape."

            Ron could not keep his jaw from dropping.  Harry managed a small gasp.

            "Snape?!" Hermione exclaimed.  "You're his…"

            "Sister," Selena finished for her.

            "Twin sister," Dumbledore added.

            "Twin?!" Ron gasped.  "But you dohn't look a day over thirty!"

            Hermione elbowed him in the ribs, but he was too shocked to even notice.

            "I'm thirty-six," she said with a shrug.

            "But Snape…!"

            "Six minutes younger than me."

            "But he looks…"

            "Ron, stop being so rude!" Hermione said, elbowing him again.

            "It's all right," Selena shrugged.  "If you get a close look at him, you'll see that he's not as old as he seems.  But of course the chances of that happening are nonexistent.  He only looks young when he laughs or smiles – really smiles.  Not that evil smile he gets when he's going to bother someone."

            "Snape laughs?" Ron said, mostly to himself.

"You're definitely his sister," Harry said.

            "You bet I am.  I was the first victim of that smile, after all, the little punk…"

            Harry found himself smiling.

            "So," he said, quirking an eyebrow.  "Did you beat him up when you were kids?"

            Even Dumbledore laughed at that.

            "Just between us," Selena said, "I still beat him up.  So every time he makes you angry – which I know he will, you're Gryffindors – just picture me beating the stuffing out of him."  She cracked her knuckles for effect, looking distinctly smug.

            "Selena, dear, don't make Potions class any harder for them.  I can only imagine the detentions they'd get if they began laughing every time they see him."

            "How are you related to that man?" Ron wondered, again mostly to himself.  "You're so nice…"

            "Was he fat when he was young?" Hermione asked, smirking.

            "No, no, we were both always emaciated little things.  Oh, and by the way, the spell you wanted before was _Russo Translatia_."

            "I have to ask, are you psychic?" Harry said after observing the burst of surprise that made its way onto Hermione's face.  "How did you see us before, and how did you know what Hermione was thinking?"

            "With the exception of the Weasley brothers, I have found that twins, while looking similar, are nothing alike," Dumbledore said.  "Severus's talent is Potions, and Selena's expertise is in Divination."

            "Divination," Hermione said flatly, wrinkling her nose.  Selena laughed.

            "Yes, it's not for everyone.  I daresay it's not even for Professor Trelawney."

            "Hush, hush, Selena," Dumbledore said with a knowing smile.

            "Well I'm sure you already know the secret," she said.  "Make it as gory and violent and dismal as possible, and you'll have your A."

            "Yes, we've noticed," Harry said, returning her grin.  "Ron and I have already died in every horrific way imaginable."

            "Good chap," she said, her smile fading slightly.

            "Come now," Dumbledore said, clearly picking up on the fade of her mood.  "We have all had long days, and classes to look forward to tomorrow."

            "It's very nice meeting you, Ms…" Harry starting, trailing off.  It was rather difficult assigning _that_ name to her.

            "Just Selena, for all of you," she said, seeming to understand.  "I am sure I will see you again."

            "To your beds, the three of you," Dumbledore said, the tone of his voice indicating that he would tolerate no further wandering.  "And don't forget to act surprised tomorrow when I introduce Selena to the rest of the school."

            "I was hoping my streak would break," Selena said softly, a few minutes after Dumbledore had shooed the three friends out.

            "You foresaw this?" he asked, pushing the curtain back from one of the windows and gazing out into the starlit night.

            "I've been having dreams," she sighed.  "Dreams in which I would die by the Dementor's Kiss.  And now they're after me."

            "They will not find you here.  I will die before I allow those creatures to roam the halls of my school."

            "I know.  But it isn't just me.  Something is going to happen to Severus soon, I can feel it.  And that girl – Hermione.  When she stepped in here…"

            "What did you see?"

            "Fire."

            "Do you suppose Professor Trelawney still has the log you wrote down of everything you predicted?" Dumbledore asked.  

            "I'm sure she does."

            "We should take a look at it.  It may offer clearer answers.  Perhaps you can fill in names where there were none before." 

            "Then that is my project for tomorrow," she agreed.

            "Do you mind staying in here?" Dumbledore asked, turning back to her.  "If you want I can walk you down to Severus's room, I'm sure he won't mind you nodding off in there."

            "Here is fine.  He'll be much more in need of a comfortable bed when he returns.  And besides…," she said, squinting slightly and then nodding, "there's a Malfoy in that house."

            "Indeed, what a surprise.  A Malfoy in Slytherin house."

            "The scumbag should have sent him to Durmstrang."

            "Now, now, Selena."

            "You are too kind, Albus."

            "Yes, just a soft old man," Dumbledore agreed quietly.

            "I'm sorry," she apologized a moment later.  "I've just forgotten how dangerous and frightening life is in the world of wizarding right now."

            "No need, my dear.  No need," the old wizard said, stretching a bit.  "I think I will bid you good night.  I take it you remember the hours for breakfast?"

            She nodded.

            "If you see anything in your dreams, Selena, do write it down…" he added, waving his wand and muttering a spell.  A quill, ink, and a stack of parchment appeared on the table at her bedside.

            "Good night, Albus.  You'll send Fawkes to me when Sev comes back, won't you?"

            The Headmaster smiled warmly at her, his eyes twinkling.

            "You read my mind."

            *                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

            He had blood under his nails.  Ugh.  

            He was trying valiantly not to let Dumbledore see how much it bothered him.  He was _itching_ for a scalding hot shower.  He always was after nights like this.

            "Are you all right?" Dumbledore asked.  That was always his first question.

            "Fine."

            Oh yes, he was grand.  He had been the 'example' of the evening.  Voldemort had hit him with the Cruciatus Curse nine times.  He felt like his insides were fried.  He had no idea how he'd even made it back.

            "Anything to tell me?"

            "Just a bit of play with some muggle women."

            "Did you have to…?"

            "No.  I broke a record."

            "And what record is that?"

            "Most times hit with the Cruciatus Curse without dying on the spot.  I couldn't even stand up for an hour.  And that clod, Pettigrew…thought himself all high and mighty and gave me a nice kick in the kidneys.  I swear, no Dementor is going to have the pleasure of ending that miserable coward's life…"

            "His luck will run out soon, Severus."

            "Yes, and I hope it is courtesy of my wand or my fist," Snape said darkly, his eyes narrowing.

            "Did you hear anything about Karkaroff?"

            "Nothing."

            "Anything amiss?"

            "No.  Business as usual."

            "Where did that blood come from?" Dumbledore said, nodding towards him.

            The blood under his nails.  Damn the omnipotent mage…what was he supposed to say?  Oh, I tore my own skin off in agony?

            "Myself," he finally said tightly.  He tilted his head to the side so the nail tracks on his neck were visible.  He supposed he looked like he'd been attacked by one of Hagrid's "pets".

            "Come," Dumbledore said, standing.  "It's five, Poppy should be awake and worrying over your sister.  I would like to have her take a look at you."

            "No, Albus.  I have classes in three hours.  I need to sleep.  I'm fine."

            "Someone can substitute for you."

            "No."

            "Severus, you need to take help where you can get it."

            "I will take help when I need it.  Which is not right now," Snape said through his teeth.  Sometimes the old man could be so aggravating… 

            Dumbledore's brows knitted.  He could always _order_ the Potions Master to see Madame Pomfrey.  But what was the point?  He was walking, albeit with a slight, well-disguised limp, and he seemed his usual bright-eyed, venomous self.

            "All right," he said at last.  "Go.  But I'm canceling your morning classes."

            "Albus---"

            "No arguments," the Headmaster said, holding a hand up.  He received a withering glare, but Snape held his tongue.

            "You should tell Selena I'm back," he said, when he was halfway out the door.

            "I sent Fawkes to her the moment you reappeared on school grounds."

            Snape nodded, looking as if he was going to say something more.  But then he shook his head and left the room, the deep black hem of his robe swirling behind him.

            Dumbledore stood staring out the window of his study, watching the sun inch tentatively over the horizon.  A few minutes later he heard a rustle of feathers and wind as Fawkes flew in and landed on the windowsill beside him.  The phoenix crowed softly, tilting its head and regarding its obviously troubled master.

            "I worry about him, Fawkes.  I sometimes feel that I am killing him slowly."

            The bird cooed and nuzzled his arm with its beak.

            "Perhaps if I had……well, let us not dwell on the past.  It is already lost to us," Dumbledore mused, stroking the phoenix's soft feathers.  "I suppose this old man should get some sleep, too."


	4. The Dog Star

"Yes!  Potions is cancelled!" Ron exclaimed, pumping his fist in the air.

            "Yeah, but we still have Divination," Harry sighed, stabbing at his hash browns.

            "Do you suppose he was hurt?" Hermione asked.

            "Huh?" 

            "Snape.  Do you think something happened?  He's never cancelled classes before."

            "He was never running Voldemort's errands before now," Harry pointed out.

            "That's not the point."

            "We'd know," Ron said.  "You'd be able to see it in their faces.  They all seem fine.  Even Selena."

            "I suppose," Hermione agreed.  "She'd probably be all broken up if he wasn't all right."

            "Who cares if he's all right."

            "Harry, he may very well save your butt someday.  I admit he's not the most likeable person, but you have to respect what he's doing," Hermione said, casting him a disapproving glance.

            "He's not changing the world, Hermione.  He still goes out there and hurts and kills people in Voldemort's name."

            "So what if he can't do much?  At least he does _something_," she shot back stubbornly.

            "I'll respect him the day he respects me," Harry concluded.  "I don't understand what's gotten into you.  The man's never said a single kind word to you or any of us!  As far as I'm concerned, he deserves whatever he gets."

            "Stop arguing, you two," Ron said, standing up as his finished plate magically cleaned itself and disappeared.  "We have to go to Divination and Hermione has to go to Arith-whatever."

            "Arithmancy," she said peevishly.

            "That's it," he said, dragging Harry away and leaving Hermione glaring after them.

            "Thanks," Harry said as they made it out into the hallway.

            "No problem," Ron replied.  "She can be a real piece of work sometimes."

            "She's right, though."

            "I think you're both right."

            They climbed the stairs to their Divination classroom in companionable silence, preparing themselves for Lavender and Parvati's squealing and Professor Trelawney's endless spew of morbid predictions.

            They were pleasantly surprised to see Professor Trelawney mooning over their newly-acquired friend when they pushed open the trapdoor to the classroom.

            Selena noticed their entrance and gave them a conspiratorial wink.

            "It's probably in that cabinet somewhere," Trelawney was saying, pointing one bony, gaudily bejeweled finger at a little trapdoor on the ceiling above her desk.  "Let me have a look…" the impossibly thin woman went on, moving the chair from her desk over and preparing to climb up onto it.

            "Oh, let me, Professor," Selena said, brushing the tiny woman aside.

            "It should be…" the Professor said, her brows knitting in concentration, "second row, third from right."

            Selena climbed up onto the chair fluidly.  She knew that Trelawney would be hovering nervously beneath her, probably thinking of a hundred highly improbable ways for her to die or be grievously injured from standing three feet above the ground on a chair.  She opened the cabinet, wincing against the cloud of dust bunnies that rose to greet her.  Not surprisingly, the stack of parchments was nowhere near where the shriveled witch had said it was.  It was in the first row to the very left of the cabinet – number one, if you counted left to right.  But she humored the woman as she always had; she stuck her arm in as if she were digging behind the first row and bent her elbow to get at what she really wanted, all the while giving the impression – to the Professor, at least – that the scroll had been exactly where she said it was.  She then closed the cabinet tightly and, much to the horror of the Professor, jumped down off the chair.

            "Yes, well, everyone," Trelawney drawled, clapping her hands twice to get their attention.  "This is Selena.  She was one of my best students.  Incredibly talented in all aspects of Divination."

            Lavender and Parvati oohed and goggled at the dark-haired woman, scooting their poufs closer, as if maybe some of Selena's talent would diffuse onto them.

            "In her third year she wrote a continuous log of everything she foresaw, which – would you say, Selena – has mostly come true?"

            "A good part of it has," Selena agreed, nodding.  This evoked more sounds of awe from Lavender and Parvati.  "But a large amount of my predictions involved people I did not know at the time and would not come to know for some time afterwards.  Some of them I still do not know."

            "Selena is here to go over her predictions once again and see if any helpful information or insight can be gained for the fight against He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.  We were going to continue our work with crystal balls, but in light of Selena's arrival, we are instead going to help her analyze her predictions."

            "This may be the most authentic thing we ever do in this class," Ron muttered.

            "I hope we get a good bit to go over," Harry said, finding himself very eager to get inside the mind of a psychic.  Doubtless there was something about him in that stack of parchment…

            "As a preliminary exercise," Selena said, shuffling some of the papers carefully, "you will work in pairs to decipher a recent or clearly recognizable event.  You will present your findings at the end of class, and it will count for a quiz grade, correct, Professor?"

            "Certainly."

            Selena circulated the room, dropping papers where pairs had formed.

            "Some of it is in verse," she warned, noticing the bewildered looks on Lavender and Parvati's faces when they received their parchment.  "If you need help with the symbols or metaphors, ask.  But they should be fairly clear, if you remember your tea leaves."

            "Ugh," Harry shuddered.  He remembered tea leaves only too well.  A moment later, Selena reached them and knelt by their table for a moment.

            "This bit contains some…details best kept secret, if you know what I mean.  But it pertains to you, so I thought you might enjoy it.  When it's your turn to go, just say whatever – I'll give you full credit."

            "I still can't believe she's related to Snape," Ron said when she moved on, shaking his head.  "She's so nice!"

            "She got the good genes," Harry said, smoothing the folded paper.

            "Probably," Ron agreed.  "So what have we got here?"

They hunched over the parchment, reading simultaneously.  It was titled, rather simply, "The Dog Star".

_The moon destroys one kind and gentle  _

_            Ignorance imprisons the one most loyal_

_            Evil engulfs the one least suspected_

Betrayal ends the fourth in turmoil Deceive the deceiver 

_            Turn time on itself_

_            Destroy the believer_

_            In truth, there is wealth_

_Grudges long cemented_

_            Lies long congealed_

_            New hate prevented_

_            Family healed_

_            Move in the alleyways_

_            Listen in the shadows_

_            Protect the fourth that stays_

_            Watchful as the danger grows._

            They spent a moment staring at it, completely perplexed.  

            "What the…?" Ron said, frowning.

            "Hey, wait…the dog star.  Didn't…" Harry's brow wrinkled in thought as he trailed off.  A second later he smiled.  "I remember now.  Do you remember the last time we did star charts in this class?"

            "Yeah," Ron replied, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

            "And you asked what that one star was?"

            "Uh huh."

            "And Hermione said it was the Dog Star."

            "Uh huh."

            "And what was the proper name of the Dog Star?"

            Ron blinked, looking bewildered.

            "Um," he said, frowning and trying to remember.  "Um…oh…oh…OH!  Sirius!"

            "Exactly!" Harry said.  "This is about Sirius, more or less."

            "'The moon destroys one kind and gentle'…hey, do you suppose that means Lupin?  What with him being a werewolf and all… "

            "Yes, that makes sense.  And the next line has to be Sirius."

            "The next one's Wormtail."

            "'Betrayal ends the fourth in turmoil'…" Harry said, biting his lip.  "My father."

            "Wow," Ron said, glancing at Selena, who was busy helping Dean and Seamus.  "She's the real thing."

            "The rest of it must be about us finding out the truth…what really happened.  And 'Turn time on itself' – that's definitely when Hermione and I used the Time Turner to rescue Sirius."

            "And the last bit is about Sirius slinking around Hogsmeade in his animal form.  And watching out for you," Ron concluded.

            "I'm really impressed," Harry said.  "I would really like to have a look at the rest of her predictions."

            "Me too.  I bet it would save us a lot of trouble."

            "I'm sure that's why Dumbledore asked her to go over them now."

            "All right," Professor Trelawney's voice cut through their conversation.  "As I sense that everyone is ready, it is now time to share your findings.  Lavender and Parvati?"

            "Our entry predicts the victory of Gryffindor in the House Cup our first year, and even cites Neville as earning the winning points."

            "Perfect," Selena said.  "Dean and Seamus?"

            "Ours foresees the drawing of four champions rather than three in the Tri-Wizard Tournament."

            The familiar burn of guilt clutched in Harry's chest, and the muscles in his jaw tensed.  It still had not passed by the time Selena got to him and Ron.

            "Harry?  Ron?" she asked, smiling.

            Ron had obviously expected Harry to do the talking, but one glance at his friend told him that he was elsewhere.  Ron cleared his throat and spoke up.

            "Our entry predicts the escape of Sirius Black, first from Azkaban and then from Hogwarts."

            She nodded, looking very pleased.

            "You've all managed to hit the nail on the head.  I think perhaps next week we can start analyzing things that are happening now – maybe even things that haven't happened yet."

            "Isn't Selena perfectly marvelous?" Trelawney cooed, grasping her by her shoulders.  

            "On second thought," Harry whispered.  "Maybe I don't want to know what's in that pile of parchment."

            *                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

            Hermione was already in the Common Room and sitting before her Arithmancy homework when Harry and Ron returned.

            "How was Divination?" she asked, unable to keep the loathing out of her voice.

            "Good, actually.  Selena was there and we got to go over some of her old predictions."

            "Oooh, you mean stuff that's already happened?"

            "Yep.  We got a whole page on Sirius!"

            "Wow!  Did she know how he escaped?"

            "Yeah, she got everything right.  Freaky, isn't it?"

            "Very," Hermione agreed, nodding.  Her glance shifted to Harry, who had been silent thus far.  He stared back at her for a moment and then quietly left the room, headed for the dormitory.  

            "What's got into him?" she asked Ron after watching him go.

            "One of the predictions was about the Tri-Wizard Tournament."

            "Ah.  I wish he wasn't so hard on himself about all that…none of it was his fault."

            "Yes, well, you try telling him that, because he never listens to me."

            "Hey," Hermione said hesitantly a moment later.  "I heard on my way back from class that afternoon Potions classes are cancelled, too."

            "Huh.  That's really weird.  But I still don't think it's any cause for concern, 'Mione.  I'm sure You-Know-Who loves to slap his minions around.  And besides…Harry's right, you know.  What do you care about that awful man?"

            "I care, Ron, because a lot of lives may depend on him.  And I also care because he's a genius.  An antisocial one, for sure, but you couldn't find a better Potions Master anywhere."

            "You could find a nicer one."

            "Well, with people like Voldemort around, niceness really isn't the point, is it?" she said.

            "Hermione," Ron said, sitting across from her and staring at her.  "There's no use in worrying about him.  He wouldn't want your pity or your sympathy anyway.  He got himself the shovel, Hermione, and now he just has to finish digging his hole.  There's nothing you or anyone, not even Dumbledore, can do about it."

            And with that, Ron got up and followed Harry's path into the boy's dormitory.__


	5. The Sorting

A/N – And so begin the flashbacks.  They're in italics, and there will probably be a lot in the next few chapters.  And yes, I know they're 11, but if you've taken a look at 11 year olds lately, I wouldn't think it that surprising.

"The last time I checked," Dumbledore said, staring at his Potions Master over the rims of his spectacles, "'internal bleeding' and 'fine' were not synonymous."

            Snape said nothing, settling for looking as annoyed as his exhaustion would permit him.  He felt like a herd of hippogriffs had trampled on him.  He really didn't care what Albus had to say; this wasn't the first time he'd dragged himself back to Hogwarts with his insides weeping, and he was sure it wouldn't be the last.  He would have been fine if he'd just stayed in bed.  Well, he really wouldn't have had much of a choice, considering that upon his awakening sometime around noon, he couldn't even raise himself two inches off the mattress without feeling like someone had a firm grip on his intestines and was having a fabulous time twisting them into a horrible convulsive ball.

            Dumbledore was looking at him sternly, obviously expecting some kind of answer.

            "Albus," he sighed, grimacing slightly as the muscles in his back screamed, "believe me, this morning I felt nowhere near as bad as this, or else I would have accompanied you to Madame Pomfrey.  I was operating on adrenaline.  I didn't feel it."

            "You were limping."

            "You'd probably be limping, too, after a few kicks in the kidneys," he muttered darkly.

            "A few?  Yesterday you said one."

            "My brain was addled, Albus.  Pettigrew could have been kicking me for a half hour and I wouldn't have been able to tell."

            "He must have been, Severus, because Madame Pomfrey tells me one of your kidneys was nearly detached."

            "Well that explains a lot."

            Dumbledore sighed.  He was not getting his point across.  Even half-dead with his abdomen hard and full of blood, Severus stubbornly refused to admit he needed help.

            "You need to take care of yourself, Severus."

            "I do."

            "No, you don't.  What if he had summoned you again tonight?  You would not have been able to move, and if you had somehow managed to get out there, one Cruciatus would have finished you off!"

            Snape winced.  It was not often that Dumbledore raised his voice.

            "You know how important you are, Severus.  You are our eyes and ears in this time.  You are the only thing that can keep a Revel from becoming a massacre!"

            Dumbledore took a breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was back to its usual volume.

            "You know I do not like to impose my will on you too much, because I failed you as much as the opposite.  But if you are not in the infirmary after every gathering from this moment forward, I will do something…unsavory.  I don't know what, but take my word, Severus, there will be consequences."

            "I am not your student any more, Albus, and I really do not appreciate being treated as such," Snape said, his tone dangerously soft.  Anyone who had ever heard him use that tone of voice knew that they were in for trouble.  The Potions Master did not yell…oh no, very much to the contrary.  The angrier he got, the softer and silkier his voice became.

            "No, you are not a student.  But you are my employee.  And if you will not take responsibility for yourself, I must treat you this way.  Don't force me to think up punishments."

            "It could have been worse," Snape protested.  "I would have healed.  It is ridiculous to waste time on every new scrape and bruise I bring home.  Save your efforts for the Potter boy."

            "Not another word, Severus, or you will be running around the Quidditch field dressed as the Gryffindor mascot." 

            Nothing had ever shut Severus Snape up so fast.  Dumbledore could not resist a smile as he breezed out of the room.  In a way, he was no better than his Potions Master.  It was ridiculously entertaining to provoke that silent, simmering death glare out of the younger man.  It was good to keep him on his toes, he reasoned.  Yes, every now and then someone had to remind Snape that he was not the only man in the world with a sharp tongue.

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

            _"I can't believe that ratty old hat serves any kind of purpose except looking ugly," Lucius Malfoy said, making a disdainful face._

_            "You better shut up," the dark-haired boy next to him warned.  "It can probably hear you."_

_            "It's just some old stupid hat, Severus," Malfoy drawled, rolling his eyes._

_            "'Just some old stupid hat'," Severus replied, mocking Malfoy's tone so well that several people in the long line giggled to themselves.  "You say that until it sticks you in Gryffindor."_

_            "Ugh," Lucius said.  "It wouldn't dare."_

_            "And what would you do to it if it did sort you into Gryffindor?" a third voice asked, the tone clearly amused._

_            "Why, simple, Selena, I would hex it until it got things right."_

_            She chuckled and shook her head._

_            "You're ridiculous, Lucius.  I wouldn't worry.  You've got Slytherin written all over you."_

_            "So what are we going to do tonight?  I think we should go exploring.  I'm sure this old castle has all kinds of hidden rooms and secret passages," Lucius said, rubbing his hands together._

_            "And how are we going to do that?" Severus asked, raising an annoyed eyebrow._

_            "I don't know."_

_            "Lucius, the last thing we need is to get in trouble the first night at school," Selena warned._

_            "Oh, quit being all maternal," Malfoy said, crossing his arms and lifting his chin haughtily.  "You know you're just as curious as we are."_

_            "Who said I was curious?" Severus asked._

_            "I don't suppose anyone's ever told you that you suck at lying, Sev," Malfoy said._

_            "He does not," Selena said.  "You don't live with him."_

_            "I probably will soon, though."_

_            "Well then don't let that quiet exterior fool you."_

_            "Now whatever are you talking about?" Severus asked, putting on his best innocent face.  _

_Selena snorted and rolled her eyes.  At least Sev and Malfoy seemed to be getting along.  Severus was not very social, and though neither of them knew anyone coming in, it was likely that she would have a much easier time of making friends.  They'd stepped onto the train together, sticking close to one another.  Most of the compartments had been full already or only had one spot available, and she knew Severus would never forgive her if she forced him to separate from her.  But she refused to stand with him; the ride was much too long for that.  And, by Merlin, if he didn't make friends now, it would only go downhill once they got to school.  She'd dragged them all the way to the back of the train, intent to turn around when she found the last compartment full, and nearly ran over the expensively dressed, blond-haired, blue-eyed Malfoy.  He'd spent a moment appraising them down his long nose, his glance mostly lingering on her.  And then he'd invited them into his compartment, apologizing and asking if she was all right.  She hadn't really liked him much, even after the gesture of kindness.  He was arrogant and spoiled – that much was obvious.  But she supposed she would just have to overlook that.  He'd befriended Severus instantly, and for that she had to be thankful._

_"I'm sure we could find a way to---" Lucius was saying, just before he was interrupted._

_"Malfoy, Lucius!"_

_The person in question looked confused for a moment, but quickly recovered and marched proudly up to the stool that held the Sorting Hat.  He could not resist keeping his eyes on the tattered old thing as McGonagall lowered it towards him.  It had just barely touched his hair before it yelled,_

_"SLYTHERIN!"_

_"Got that one right," Severus mumbled, returning the grin that Lucius beamed at him._

_"I wonder if that hat has ever put someone in the wrong house just to spite them," Selena mused._

_"It would be obvious, so probably not."_

_"Do you suppose it's…what's the word…sentient?"_

_"I don't know."_

_"I guess we'll just have to wait 'til it's on our head," she said, giving her brother a crooked grin._

_"I guess," he agreed absently, his eyes busily taking inventory of the Slytherin table.  She let her eyes wander as well, sweeping first up the lengths of Hufflepuff and then Gryffindor's tables.  Her eyes settled on a certain boy who had just been sorted into Gryffindor.  He sat towards the end of the table, surrounded by people but not talking to any of them.  He was pale and delicate-looking.  He could have been a porcelain doll if not for his faded, shabby robes._

_She remembered him from the train.  He'd been in a compartment with two other boys, both dark-haired and both currently sitting across from him at the Gryffindor table.  His deep eyes had held a shy invitation when he'd pulled open the door.  They'd told her that she could sit with them, if she wanted._

_"Hey," she said, poking the boy in front of her.  He was a bit chubby and mousy-haired, and seemed surprised that she wanted to talk to him._

_"What?" he asked, surveying her carefully._

_"You went in the compartment with those boys," she said, pointing toward the Gryffindor table.  He nodded rather dumbly.  "What's that one's name?"_

_"Oh," he said, looking relieved.  "Remus Lupin."_

_"Hm," she said, letting her eyes linger on Lupin for another moment before returning them to the chubby boy in front of her.  "What's your name?"_

_"Peter…"_

_"Pettigrew, Peter!"_

_"That's me," he said, smiling.  "Here goes."_

_The Hat answered as quickly for him as it had for Lucius, screaming out a hearty,_

_"GRYFFINDOR!"_

_"This is annoying," Severus muttered.  "Why couldn't we have a name closer to the beginning of the alphabet?"_

_"There aren't too many more before us.  Having all these people staring at us just makes it seem to take forever."_

_"What'd you ask that boy's name for?" he questioned, settling his intense gaze on her._

_"I was just curious.  He looks like he could use a friend."_

_"You like him," Severus said, his lips curling into a smile._

_"I do not," she said flatly._

_"Yes you dooooo."_

_"Do not."_

_"Do too."_

_"Not."_

_"Too."_

_"Not."_

_"Too."_

_"Oh for the love of crap Severus shut…"_

_"Snape, Selena!"_

_She spared only a second to give him a withering glare, which only made his smile grow even wider.  Then she pushed the thoughts of how annoying her twin brother was out of her mind and strode confidently up to the stool.  She sat, still half-glaring at Severus, and waited for the Hat to settle on her head.  _

_She hadn't expected to feel anything, just to hear it shout that she was a Slytherin and be done with her.  But when the wide, faded brim hooded her vision, she gasped.  She felt it in her mind._

_"You're a tough one," the hat said, in its raspy voice.  "So many layers."   _

_She could feel it in her brain, jumping to and fro between synapses like a nervous flea.  Her head began to hurt intensely.  What was going on?  No one else had seemed to be in pain or shown any indication that the thing was invading their mind.  And then suddenly something new was touched, something that made her feel like a white-hot poker had just been jammed through her skull.  She wanted to scream, but only managed a shaky inhalation.  She held onto the edges of the stool for dear life, so tightly that it actually hurt.  She could see Professor McGonagall's face in her peripheral vision.  The kindly witch was quickly becoming worried_

_The pain subsided gradually, but left her with a strange buzzing in her mind – sort of like ringing ears after loud music.  And then the hat sighed and withdrew from her consciousness._

_"RAVENCLAW!" it boomed.  McGonagall pulled it off her head quickly, catching her as she almost toppled off the stool._

_"Are you all right, dear?" she asked, her concerned face swimming in Selena's vision._

_"Yes, I'm…I'm fine," she said, blinking to try to will away the dizziness._

_"Are you sure?"_

_"Yes," she said, avoiding a nod because she was sure it would set her head aswim again._

_"All right," the witch said, pointing to the Ravenclaw table.  "There is your house table."_

_"Thank you," she murmured, concentrating very hard on the steps down to the floor level.  She could feel McGonagall's eyes on her back as she went, and then as clear as day the woman's voice was in her head._

'That's never happened before.'

She turned and looked back at the wizened witch.  She was looking at the hat that rested in her hands, a slight frown on her face.  Selena's glance moved to Severus, who now made his way to the stool.  His eyes caught hers and they shared a glance of resigned confusion.  She shrugged very slightly, and he smiled.  He wasn't angry.

_Not unexpectedly, the hat bellowed just a second after being placed on his head._

_"SLYTHERIN!"_

_"Hey," a voice interrupted her thoughts.  She turned and looked up into a tall, brown-haired boy's face.  He was easily six feet tall, most likely a seventh-year.  "You going to come sit down?"_

_"Oh, yes, I just wanted to watch my brother, is all," she said.  He smiled what could only be described as a contagious smile._

_"Well, I'm Ludo Bagman," he said as he led her toward the table.  "And welcome to Ravenclaw."_

_"Thank you," she said softly, feeling her cheeks heat.  Boy, did that smile have wattage.  She sat where he'd pushed a girl and boy apart, staring fiercely at her hands as he patted her on the back and shuffled off to the other end of the table._

_She raised her eyes a few minutes later, when applause broke out as the sorting was finished.  She found herself caught directly in the gaze of Lucius Malfoy.  He was staring at her, unblinking, his eyes glittering like the Caribbean Sea.  Something about the way he looked at her made her feel oddly special and alarmingly unsafe at the same time.  Slowly, his eyebrows went up and he shrugged.  He smiled, revealing his perfect white teeth.  For no good reason, she felt her nerves relax.  He wasn't angry, either, although why it should matter to her was a complete mystery.  She did know one thing, though.  There was as much of an invitation in Malfoy's eyes as there had been in Remus Lupin's._

_Lupin…_

_Her eyes broke their stalemate with Lucius and flickered to the other side of the room.  Lupin was now talking with Peter and the dark-haired boys, laughing at something one of them had said.  Gods, he was pretty._

_Stupid Severus.  He was too sharp for his own good sometimes._

_For a second, Lupin's eyes met hers.  He lifted his hand in a very subtle wave.  And again, as clear as day, she heard a voice in her head.  She had not heard him speak, but she was sure it was Remus Lupin's voice._

'I'm glad she wasn't put in Slytherin.'


	6. Seekers

A/N – Whee!  More flashbacks, and this is a juicy one.

She supposed Severus must be in fine form at Hogwarts.  The students had been thoroughly shocked upon her introduction that morning, and had steered very, very clear of her all day.  They probably thought she might be exactly like her brother.  Only those who had shared time with her in Divination knew otherwise.

            She shook her head and sighed, her breath causing the stack of dusty papers to flutter.

            "You're tired, dear.  Tomorrow's another day," Professor Trelawney said, looking up from her own stack of papers.

            "Yes," she replied, feeling her stomach rumble with hunger.  "Thank you for allowing me to invade your classes today."

            "Nonsense," the sprite-like Professor said, waving a hand.  "It was probably good for them to see an example of a psychic other than me."

            Selena hid a smile.

            "Yes, probably.  Would you like to come to dinner with me?"

            "Oh no, dear.  The house elves usually bring me my meals up here.  It is too disruptive for my Inner Eye in the Great Hall."

            "All right.  I should stop by the infirmary anyway to check on my reckless brother."

            "What happened to him?" Trelawney asked, her brow furrowing.  She looked nonplussed, probably because she hadn't foreseen his injuries and because she was uninformed.

            "He…had a bit of a run-in with one of Hagrid's pets that got loose," Selena lied smoothly.  Trelawney didn't know that Severus was a Death Eater.  And it would be much, much better if it stayed that way.  "You know how he likes to wander at night," she added, packing up her papers.

            "Most unfortunate, but I sense that he will recover," the Professor replied, giving her a friendly smile.

            "Yes, I'm sure he will.  He's tough," she agreed.  "Thank you again, Professor."

"You're always welcome, Selena."

            She smiled and nodded, murmuring one last thank you before she let the trapdoor close behind her.  She breathed deeply as she made it into a drafty corridor, glad to clear the over-fragrant incense from her lungs.  She despised whatever it was that Trelawney always had wafting around the room; it never did anything but give her a headache and an occasional bout of the sneezes.

            "Is that the Lady Selena?" a voice suddenly demanded.

            She looked to her right and smiled.

            "Yes, it's me, Sir Cadogan."

            "How art thou, M'lady?" the Knight in the painting asked, puffing out his chest.

            "I'm doing well.  You had a turn to guard the entrance of Gryffindor, didn't you?" she asked, frowning as the knowledge came unbidden into her mind.  "What happened to the Fat Lady?"

            "Oh, she had a most terrible scare!  Some scurly cur by the name of Sirius Black attacked her!  Imagine that, attacking a helpless lady!" the Knight huffed.

            "Sirius, hm?" was all Selena said.

            "They were in desperate need of a temporary guardian for Gryffindor tower while the Fat Lady was fixed, so naturally, I, the valiant Sir Cadogan, offered my services!"

            "Did you now," she said.  She was almost to the end of his painting, but he would probably just jump into the next one.

            "Yes, well, the scoundrels were awfully angry when I did my job!"

            "You let Sirius into the tower."

            "He had all the passwords, M'lady!  As a Knight, I am bound to honor!  The agreement was that I let in only the people who had the passwords.  Black had the passwords!"

            "You just didn't want to get attacked like the Fat Lady did," she said, stopping and crossing her arms over her chest.  

            Sir Cadogan sputtered, looking enraged.

            "How dare you insult the valor of Sir Cadogan!  This will not be forgiven!  I challenge you to a duel!  Come on, you fork-tongued serpent!  Draw your sword!!!"

            Selena could not help but laugh at the little Knight in the painting as he jumped around like a rabid squirrel, slicing and dicing with his sword that looked like nothing more than a toothpick to her.

            "Good day, Sir Cadogan.  I shall see you tomorrow."

            The painting's voice followed her down the corridor, shrieking.

            "Come back and fight!  Or are you too afraid of the INVINCIBLE Sir Cadogan?!"

            The encounter with the old painting had made her smile, but it faded quickly.  She remembered this darkened hallway.  Lucius Malfoy's youthful face appeared in her memories, his lips drawn back in a snarl and eyes blazing like the hottest part of fire – the blue flame in the center.  She could almost hear his voice echo off the stone walls around her.

_"Who's the liar now, Selena?  WHO?!"_

            *                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

            "Look at this," Hermione said, dropping a huge book onto the table Harry was using to study in the Common Room.  

            "What is it?" Harry asked, blinking as dust rose towards him.

            "Well I just took a quick trip to the library because I needed something for my Arithmancy paper, and I found the yearbook section."

            "Yearbook?" Ron piped up as he walked into the Common Room.

            "Yes.  I decided to pull one down to see if I could get a little more information about Selena, but look," she said, pointing to the page it was open to, "she's not here."

            And sure enough, Hermione was right.  The Slytherin section went straight from a picture of Majorca Silvestri (a very skinny, platinum-haired girl holding her wand proudly) to Severus Snape, and then on to Herschel Sovern (a rotund, dull-looking boy that reminded them a bit of Goyle).

            "Man," Ron said, frowning.  "Snape's there, but where is she?"

            "She should be right before him," Harry added.

            "It's so strange," Hermione mused.

            "What?" Harry and Ron asked in unison.

            "Seeing Snape that young.  He's just a little boy there."

            "He doesn't even look mean.  I wonder what he was like," Ron said, turning the book so he could see the picture better.  Snape was actually smiling in it, albeit very slightly.  It was a Mona Lisa type smile, one that was smug and knowing and thoroughly indecipherable.  His hair was long but neat, his eyes bright and penetrating.  Not a trace of a glare, though.  No, the first-year Snape seemed disconcertingly…

            Innocent.

            "Well I guess we can safely say that he didn't pop out of the womb with his charming personality the way it is today," Harry said after a moment.

            "Makes you wonder, doesn't it," Hermione murmured.  

            "But hey, back to the original question.  Why isn't Selena in here?" Ron reminded them.

            "Maybe it's simple.  Maybe she wasn't a Slytherin," Harry suggested.

            "They have put twins in different houses before, like Parvati and Padma," Hermione said, nodding.

            "So let's check the other houses."

            "I'm willing to bet she wasn't a Gryffindor," Harry said.

            "Definitely not," Ron agreed.

            "Let's guess."

            "I say Hufflepuff," Hermione said.

            "Yeah…Hufflepuff seems kinda right," Ron nodded.

            "Hufflepuff it is," Harry said, turning back a thick stack of pages to where pictures of the members of Hufflepuff house began.

            "Damn!" Ron said, mirroring all their feelings.  Selena Snape was nowhere to be found within the ranks of Hufflepuff.

            "Well, that leaves Ravenclaw and Gryffindor."

            "Ravenclaw first."

            More pages were turned, until Harry suddenly exclaimed,

            "Hey!  Go back a few."

            "Why?" Ron asked.

            "Just do it.  No, not that one, a few more…stop!"

            "Why are we looking at the Quidditch Teams?" Hermione said, sounding mildly annoyed.

            "Because she's the Seeker for Ravenclaw," Harry answered succinctly.

            "She played Quidditch?!" Ron asked, his eyes widening.

            "Looks like it.  There she is," Harry said, pointing.

            "Wow!  It is her!  Can't miss that braid."

            "That's…" Hermione said, suddenly leaning over them to look at the picture more closely.  "That's Ludo Bagman!"

            "Where?"

            "Right there," she said, pointing.

            "He must have been a seventh-year when she was a first-year."

            "Man oh man!  I bet they won the Cup that year," Ron said, shaking his head in amazement.

            Harry turned a few more pages.  There was a set of pages for each team, and then two pages for each game of the season.  The game pages were animated, showing highlights from the games and how each was won.  The last game, the game for the Cup, was Ravenclaw versus Gryffindor.

            "Ohmygod," Ron breathed, watching as the young version of Selena sped around in pursuit of the Snitch.  "She's better than Viktor Krum."

            "What is she _doing_?" Harry asked, as she began to raise herself off her broom.  The three of them watched in awe as she stood on the thin broom handle, looking very much like a Muggle surfer.

            "That's incredible," Harry mumbled.  "She's about to get it…"  

The tiny Snitch was within six inches of her outstretched hand.  Just as her fingers were about to close around it, a very carefully aimed Bludger hit her full in the back.

            "Ohhh!" the three of them burst out at the same time, watching her go flying from her broomstick.

            "That was _nasty_," Ron said, cringing.  "I guess they didn't win the cup…"

            "I wonder how long it took Madame Pomfrey to fix her up after a fall like that," Harry mused.  It was easily two hundred feet to the ground from where she had been.  Then, as all three of them were bracing themselves to watch her hit the ground, a blur on a broomstick dove down to her, and they saw her hands clamp firmly onto the handle.

            "That's gotta be Bagman!" Ron said, grinning.  "I've seen him do that in other matches."

            They watched in silent awe as Bagman inched as far back on his broom as he could, allowing her room to stand on the handle, just as she had been before.  A moment later, she jumped, barely catching the handle of her own idle broom.

            "She's _insane_," Harry said, his eyes widening as she repositioned herself on the broom and resumed the chase.

            "I bet they won every year they had her," Ron sighed.

            She caught up to the other Seeker very quickly.  They were neck and neck, intensely hunched over their broomsticks.  A moment later, it seemed that the Gryffindor Seeker lost control.  He fell behind, almost toppling off his broom.  Seconds later, she had the Snitch held tightly in her palm and Bagman was crushing her in a hug.

            Harry was not fooled; he knew that maneuver.  It was nearly impossible to see from afar, but if it was being done to you, it was rather obvious.  It was very simple, and in situations as close as that, nobody ever saw the hand shoot out and savagely twist the back of the broom.  If you were not on your guard, as apparently the Gryffindor seeker wasn't, it could send you into a very dangerous spin.  One glance told him that Hermione hadn't missed it either.

            "Well," she said, sitting back as the book showed the on-field celebration, "she may not be a Slytherin, but she's still a Snape."

            *                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

_3rd year Quidditch Cup, Ravenclaw vs. Slytherin:_

_            "No mercy," Ellis Tromer was saying, shaking his fist emphatically.  "You know they play dirty.  You know their Beaters are going to be after you.  And don't you soft-heart anyone, Selena.  I don't care if your brother and your boyfriend are on that team—"_

_            "He's not my boyfriend," she interrupted._

_            "Yeah, whatever," Ellis said, rolling his eyes.  "He's going to be after you.  He's not going to be nice because you're friends."_

_            "Neither am I," she said, a tad resentfully.  "Ellis, don't get your undies in a twist."_

_            "Don't sass me!  I'm not Ludo, you can't say whatever you please to me, missy!" Ellis thundered._

_            "You need to relax," she said.  "We're going to win.  I can be as nasty as any Slytherin on the Quidditch field, Ellis, and you know it.  So quit being such a tight-ass and go warm up, unless, of course, you want us to have a Keeper with an ulcer!"_

_            Ellis could only sputter in disbelief as she walked calmly away from him, taking a few running steps and then mounting her broom._

_            "She's a terror, isn't she?" _

_Ellis turned toward the source of the voice, still too shocked to reply.  Lucius Malfoy strode forward, purposely bumping him as he went by._

_            "Really pathetic, Tromer, letting a third-year tell you off!" he called over his shoulder.  "Two third-years, if you count me!  Don't know how you're going to hold that goal if you can barely face down your own Seeker without wetting your pants!"_

_            Lucius took off exactly as Selena had, soaring up into the air and leaving the rest of his green and silver clad team to snicker at the red-faced captain of Ravenclaw._

_30 minutes into the game:_

_            Selena hovered on her broomstick, sitting casually and scanning the area for the Snitch.  She was down near the Slytherin goals.  She hated to admit it, but Slytherin had better Chasers – no significant activity had come this way yet.  She spared her brother a glance.  He was practically lounging way out of the goal, waiting for a bad pass to pick off and only moving when a Bludger came near him._

_            A cheer went up as Slytherin scored again.  This was getting bad.  She glanced at the scoreboard, frowning.  Seventy to zero, Slytherin.  And that was with Ellis flinging himself around the goal area like an acrobat, playing the most inspired game she'd ever seen.  Ludo would surely die on the spot if he ever saw his team losing this badly.  She had to find the Snitch, and soon._

_            She ducked instinctively as a Bludger flew her way.  That was the fifth time someone had tried to catch her off guard; Slytherin knew that she was probably the only chance of victory for Ravenclaw, and she was sure there would be more attempts to take her out.  The only reason she hadn't been body-checked yet was that she hadn't really moved since the beginning of the game.  She'd picked her spot in Slytherin's end and just waited – waited for some glimpse of the Snitch.  _

_            Malfoy, Slytherin's Seeker, was flying in the cover of his team's Beaters, scanning the field just as she was.  He was a good Seeker.  In fact, he was the only one that she ever really factored into a game; the Seekers for Hufflepuff and Gryffindor were good, but did not have the foresight or reaction time that Lucius did.  He could beat her to the Snitch, she had no doubt of that.  But he hadn't done it yet._

_            She was startled out of her thoughts when the quiet buzz of the Snitch tickled her hearing.  Her head jerked around and she quickly tried to pinpoint its location.  There!  It was hovering above the highest goal hoop like a nervous hummingbird.  A smile spread over her face, but at the same time she registered the distinct feeling that her brother was looking at her._

_            She turned and met his gaze._

_            "Pity," he said in Russian, drifting back towards the goals, "that the Keeper can't go after the Snitch."_

_            "Pity, indeed," she returned, raising a smug eyebrow.  And then she took off in pursuit of the little winged sphere, pushing her broom as fast as it could go as she heard Severus yell for Malfoy._

_            Lucius broke from the Beaters and was on her trail in seconds.  The Snitch darted away from where it had been, sensing that it had been spotted.  She cursed softly to herself as Madame Hooch's voice rang out, announcing another goal for Slytherin.  She couldn't waste any more time, or else Slytherin would lead by so many points that it wouldn't matter if she caught the Snitch or not._

_            She flew recklessly, keeping herself totally focused on the tiny ball.  Lucius was below her, less than a foot behind.  She cringed as she felt a Slytherin Beater's bat connect with her elbow.  It should have been a penalty, but it happened in such a way that no one saw it.  A second later she was saved by Sue DeLorien, one of her team's Beaters.  Sue just managed to catch the edge of the Bludger as it sped towards Selena, deflecting it and changing its trajectory so that it nearly got Malfoy instead.  _

_            She mentally thanked Sue as she took advantage of the seconds it took Lucius to avoid the Bludger.  She gunned her broom, narrowly avoiding a Slytherin Chaser who flew into her path.  Yes, yes…she was almost there…if only her arm was a tiny bit longer…_

_            She actually felt the tips of her fingers brush the Snitch before she was jerked backwards savagely.  She cried out in surprise, barely managing to stay on the broom.  As she dangled in the air, clinging desperately to the handle, she saw Lucius speed by, grinning ear to ear._

_            The bastard!  He'd grabbed her by her braid and nearly yanked her whole head off!  Anger speared through her, filling her vision with a staccato burst of white and purple spots.  Her only comfort was that the Snitch took a sharp turn upwards right as Lucius was about to catch it._

_            "You're still in it!" Chester, another one of her teammates, whispered in her ear as he helped her back onto her broom.  "They called a penalty, we'll have some---"_

_            Just then, a Bludger caught him hard in the ribs.  She gasped as she heard the crack of bone and his cry of pain.  He fell against her, nearly causing both of them to go toppling off their brooms.  But she managed to balance them, and as Chester went limp in her arms, she looked up and caught the eyes of the Slytherin Beater that had taken the cheapest shot she'd ever seen in a Quidditch game yet._

_            Herschel Sovern.  The fat, stupid, ugly musclehead that barely passed his classes and didn't do much but throw his weight around on the field.  Ellis and Jack had already taken Chester from her and were lowering him to ground level so Madame Pomfrey could attend to him.  _

_            "What the hell was that, Sovern?" Sue demanded, dropping down next to the fat Slytherin.  "You think it's funny to take people out after the play?  See how funny it is when I smash your ugly face with this," she growled, raising her bat.  "Not that it would make much of a difference."_

_            "Take it easy, Sue," Selena spoke up, flying over to her.  In reality she wanted nothing more than for Sue to beat the piss out of the overgrown maggot, but that would only make things worse.  She thanked Merlin for Sue's temper and fearless nature.  It saved her from becoming so enraged that she kicked the shit out of Sovern herself._

_            "You better watch yourself, Sovern," Sue threatened.  "I can mess you up."_

_            Sovern laughed and began to fly off.  Sue made to lunge at him, but Selena held her back._

_            "It's not worth it!" she hissed in her teammate's ear.  "It'll cause a penalty and we're already down by too much!"_

_            Sue pulled her arm out of Selena's grasp, but flew away from where Sovern hovered.  She had to take the penalty shots, anyway._

_            "Good girl," Selena murmured to herself._

_            "Yes, good girl indeed," Lucius said, pulling up next to her._

_            "Sod off, Malfoy.  That was a dirty trick," she seethed, beginning to drift away from him.  It was very difficult to resist the urge to punch him when his firm grip on her braid stopped her once again.  "What the hell---"_

_            Before she knew it he'd yanked her face toward him and planted a kiss on her lips.  Her mouth was open in surprise, and he took advantage of it.  She pushed hard against his chest, trying to get away from him, but he only pulled harder on her hair as she struggled.  Finally he released her from the kiss but not from his grip._

_            She was so angry that words failed her.  Her glare sufficed to tell him just how unhappy she was, though.  It made him smile.  He leaned forward, biting at the air in front of her nose, his teeth clicking together.  And then he let her go, tickling her nose with the end of her braid and flying off, his laughter mingling with the furious rush of blood in her ears._

_            What the HELL?  Hadn't anyone SEEN that?  That was so completely illegal and patronizing and…_

_            She realized, even as she began to get splinters from clenching her broomstick, that no one had been watching the Seekers.  All eyes had been on Slytherin's goal area, riveted by Sue's two penalty shots.  She'd made them both, apparently, because now the score was eighty-twenty.  Regular play was about to resume._

_            Goddamn Malfoy.  That…that…prick, the insufferable snot!_

_            Selena's eyes narrowed.  Oh, she was going to catch that Snitch.  There was NO way Malfoy was going to beat her.  No freaking way._

_            She drifted into her team's huddle, still churning with ire._

_            "We're going to win this, and we're going to win it for Chester!" Ellis was saying.  "Sue, you stay at Beater and do your best to protect Selena.  Calvin, you switch to Chaser and stick with Jack and Erin.  Selena," he continued, turning his glance to her, "well, you know.  Let's go.  For Chester!"_

_            "For Chester!" they cheered together, breaking rapidly.  Sue stuck close to her, but did not pass up chances to go after Slytherin players, especially Sovern._

_            About five minutes went by before she zeroed in on the Snitch once again.  Lucius was on the other side of the field, but he saw it at the exact same time that she did.  They moved simultaneously, converging on the flitting ball.  It dashed away from them as they barely avoided crashing into one another, their windblown robes tangling together.  They both cursed and fought to break apart.  As he pulled at her robe, an idea popped into her head.  She swung her braid over her left shoulder, turning her head to look directly at him.  As his eyes flickered to hers, she snapped her head the other way, rotating her neck and slapping him in the face with her braid._

_            He exploded with a curse and his hand faltered, letting go of her robe.  She broke away as quickly as she could, sparing only a moment to be satisfied.  She'd drawn blood; the metal part of her hair tie must have caught him just right across the cheek.  Served the rotten bastard right._

_            She saw the glint of the Snitch out of the corner of her eye.  She went to her feet on her broom, something that was now an instinctual behavior.  She pulled the broom around, her knees bent and her hand on the polished wood.  The Snitch was trying to get away from her, but oh no, not this time…_

_            She heard the crowd gasp as she launched herself from her broom.  Her timing was perfect.  She managed to grab the Snitch at full extension, barely able to contain it with the tips of her fingers.  But she held and pulled it into her palm, trapping the little ball._

_            She opened her body for freefall, making eye contact with Sue as the girl swooped down twenty feet below to catch her.  She had only a second to wonder why Sue's green eyes were widening in horror._

_            "Selena!!!" Ellis's scream reached her just in time for her to turn her head – and catch sight of another Slytherin player barreling down on her.  He wasn't paying attention; he was looking at the scoreboard._

_            "Newbright!" the Slytherin captain screamed.  The boy turned his head and saw Selena, but had no time to react._

_            The end of his broomstick caught her hard across the temple, flipping her body up with the momentum.  She bounced off Newbright with bone-jarring force, her forehead connecting with his shoulder and her neck jerking painfully._

_            A thousand things that she'd never remember afterwards exploded in her head, a rapid-fire slideshow of unfamiliar images and sounds.  Then her mind was full of nothing, and she passed out in midair._

_            Sue had turned about to catch her, but couldn't move quickly enough.  There was no one else near except for Newbright, who was too shaken to react, and Lucius Malfoy._

_            For a second, Lucius was stagnant.  And then Severus's voice reached him._

_            "LUCIUS!  GET HER!"_

_            He snapped into action, diving sharply.  He was just barely going to make it, and he'd have to bail.  It was going to hurt.  But somehow, even though the saucy little bitch had drawn blood, and on his face of all places, he didn't mind._

_            He jumped, much as she had to capture the Snitch.  His broomstick crashed into the grass like a javelin, and he caught her perhaps two feet above the ground.  He twisted in midair and bit back a scream as his shoulder hit the earth and dislocated.  All the wind was knocked out of him as he cushioned her fall with his own body._

_            The next thing he knew, his robes were saturated with her blood and Edwin Newbright was standing over them, mumbling,_

_            "Oh shit.  Shit shit shit!  I didn't see her, I swear, I didn't mean to hit her, I tried to get out of the way…!"_


	7. Reveille

A/N – I always forget what I'm going to say in these things…well, a few secrets revealed here, but still, I keep you unbearably uninformed.  Mwahahahahaha.  Yes, this is going somewhere, I'm just taking it slow.

She sat in Severus's seat at dinner, between Flitwick and Sinistra towards the end of the table.  Severus was still confined to his bed under orders of the 'Infirmary Nazi', as he was fond of calling Madame Pomfrey.  He'd seemed fine, but she knew him too well to miss how he cleverly deflected all her questions and didn't give her a single answer that she wanted.  She thought about a truth serum, but no…there were, and would always be, some things about her brother that she really didn't want to know.

            "What's the matter, Selena?"

            She jumped, not expecting the hand that settled on her elbow.

            "Oh, Professor McGonagall, you startled me.  Nothing's the matter, I'm fine."

            "You haven't touched your food, and poor Professor Flitwick has been trying to talk to you."

            "He has?  Oh no, he must think me terribly rude now."

            "He only thinks you terribly distracted," the elder witch said, winking.

            "Well, it's just that being here brings back so many memories, is all," Selena admitted, poking at her food.  "I spoke to Sir Cadogan.  He's angry with me for calling him a coward because he let Sirius Black into Gryffindor Tower."

            McGonagall rolled her eyes and snorted.

            "I'm sure he'll get over it."

            Selena chuckled, and momentarily forgetting about her brother renewed her appetite.  She took a few bites of food and turned back to McGonagall.

            "So how is your Quidditch team this year?"

            "I suppose you've met Harry Potter?"

            "Yes, earlier today."

            "He is our Seeker."

            "Ohh, is he any good?"

            "We won the cup two years ago.  He's very talented."

            "Well," she chided her former teacher, "you need more than a Seeker to make a championship Quidditch team."

            "Not always," McGonagall said, smiling.  "Have you made any progress with your predictions?"

            She shook her head, frowning.

            "Most of today was spent just sorting the ones that have already happened from the ones I have yet to understand."

            "Well, these things take time, dear, don't rush."

            "Yes, you're right, but I can never shake the feeling that there are things I could have prevented if I had moved a little bit faster," she said, setting her silverware down on the edge of her plate.

            McGonagall smiled sympathetically and gave her shoulder a squeeze.

            "Such is the burden of having a gift like yours, Selena."

            *                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

            Lucius Malfoy let a frustrated sigh escape his lungs as he heard the tell-tale pinging of glass that indicated an owl for him.  It was late, and he was busy, and who the hell was sending him an owl?  He was sure whatever message the bird carried would be meaningless and that, of course, would just annoy him more.

            But he got up to let the owl in, anyway.  He recognized the mottled gray owl right away and rolled his eyes.  This was the owl Draco always used.  He was tempted to just throw the small piece of parchment away or shove it in a drawer somewhere, but he supposed whatever Draco had to say might lower his blood pressure for a few minutes and allow him to relax.

            He sat and put his feet up, heedless of the papers that now had dirt and bits of grass on them.  He unrolled the parchment and skimmed his son's sloping handwriting.

            _Father,_

_            Not much is happening right now.  We are preparing for our first Quidditch match of the year against Ravenclaw, which, of course, we will win.  Well, when I first started at Hogwarts, you told me to tell you of anything unusual that happens.  There are definitely a few things that happened this week that you should know.  The other night, during the feast, a woman was attacked by Dementors.  They chased them off and it appears that she is staying – they gave her a room and she's been taking over Divination class once a week.  We haven't been told anything other than that her name is Selena and she's Professor Snape's sister.  One more thing that may or may not be related – the day after she came, all Potions classes were cancelled.  Prof. Snape was in the infirmary for about two days, no one knows why.  They said it was because one of that stupid gamekeeper's creatures got loose, but I don't believe it.  I think Prof. Snape is more than capable of defending himself against those beasts.  He hasn't said anything about it, and I'm not about to ask, because he's even been acting snappy towards some Slytherins of late.  Not me, of course.  I'm sure you'll have an answer for me.  Hope all is well._

_            ~Draco_

            Lucius did not recover from his shock until he felt his chair tipping over.  He caught himself just in time, kicking papers everywhere in the process.  Graceful, Malfoy.  Highly elegant, he thought to himself, tossing the rest of his papers off the desk just for good measure.  Well, who gave a damn.  It was the second time in as many weeks that his desk got a spontaneous clearing.

            So Karkaroff had been telling the truth, at least about Selena.  She _was_ at Hogwarts.  And if that part had been true…what of the other things the man had said?

            He knew why Severus had been pent up in the infirmary for two days; he had been there, heard his fellow Death Eater scream and seen him squirm and claw at his own skin under the effects of the Cruciatus.  He had been mildly worried that Severus would not survive.  But that was a foolish notion; the Potions Master was much tougher than anyone gave him credit for.  The question was…

            Did he have the strength to infiltrate and act for the Darkness in order to aid the Light?

            Lucius found that he could not come to a satisfactory answer.  He had know Severus Snape for over twenty years, even considered him his best friend for a good part of that.  And yet…he knew nothing about him, nothing that was inside.  He had never been told a secret, never cracked the deepest layer of shielding that Severus erected around himself.  No, the real Severus was reserved for a scant few people, and of those people, only one remained.

            Selena.

            All roads led back to that infernal woman.

            It was time for a long-overdue chat.  Of course she'd never agree to it willingly.  He'd have to use some coercion.

            He pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and wrote a very simple reply to Draco's letter.

            _Son,_

_            Good work and I will see you soon._

            *                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

            "_Sue!  I'm so glad you came, I'm so bored in here!" Selena exclaimed, sitting up a bit higher in her bed._

_            "Yeah, well, I had to check on my favorite teammate," the tall, tanned sixth year said, grinning.  She poked Selena lightly in the forehead.  "Everything OK up there?"_

_            "Mostly."_

_            "Good.  Oh, and I also have to give you this – Ludo sent it."_

_            Sue procured a massive pot of flowers from behind her back.  They were a mix of poppies, roses, and carnations, all of them enchanted to form a confetti-like burst of fauna._

_            "Wow!" Selena said, leaning forward to sniff the mix of fragrances.  "Who would've thought Ludo was good at arranging flowers."_

_            "Ha!" Sue said, chuckling.  "He probably had someone do it for him.  Can you imagine how masculine he'd get if he heard you insinuating that he's a florist?"_

_            "I hope, for his sake, that he's good at something besides Quidditch because, well…"_

_            "He's not the most intelligent fellow," Sue finished for her.  They shared a laugh and Sue set the flowers on the table next to her bed, which was already somewhat crowded with trinkets that other visitors had brought her._

_            "So how are classes?" Selena asked._

_            "I got double detention for all of next week."_

_            "What?  Why?!"_

_            "Because I kicked the shit out of Herschel Sovern."_

_            "Sue!  What did the Headmaster say?"_

_            "That two wrongs don't make a right."_

_            "Ha!  Speaking of, how's __Chester__?"_

_            "Oh, he's fine.  Really happy that everyone is glaring daggers at the Slytherin team."_

_            "Hey Sue…" Selena started, and then stopped, frowning._

_            "What?" her companion demanded._

_            Selena gestured for her to lean in, and Sue did so immediately, so fast that they almost bumped heads._

_            "Oops!" she whispered, grinning.  "You don't need any more knocks on the head."_

_            "No, I don't.  Hey, Sue, listen.  When you were taking the penalty shots in the game…"_

_            "Yeah…?"_

_            "Malfoy kissed me."_

_            "What?!" Sue practically screamed, clamping a hand over her mouth and resuming her whisper when she heard her voice echo off the stone ceiling.  "In the middle of the field?!"_

_            "Yes.  I don't know if anyone saw but he grabbed my braid and just pulled me into it!"_

_            "What a…Well what do you think it meant?  Was it a scare tactic or do you think it was genuine?"_

_            "Don't know.  It was hard to tell with his tongue down my throat."  _

_            "Eew.  Scare tactic, or some really retarded version of flirting."_

_            "I don't know.  But I wanted to know…was it him?"_

_            "Huh?"_

_            "That caught me.  Was it Malfoy?"_

_            "Yes, but only after your brother yelled at him," Sue replied, making a face.  "It dislocated his shoulder but he was out of here before you even woke up."_

_            "I don't understand him, Sue.  He's so damned belittling, but then he'll always do something to redeem himself."_

_            "Hm.  I'm starting to think he likes you."_

_            "You think?"_

_            "Well, all the signs are there.  I'm surprised, I would think a Malfoy wouldn't be so stupid with all this, what with their floofy pureblood crap."_

_            "His name means nothing, Sue.  When you get right down to it, he's just a guy."_

_            "Well, I'll do a little spying for you.  Perhaps I can…"persuade"…Mr. Sovern to help me a bit."_

_            Selena laughed, reaching forward to hug Sue._

_            "You're the best."_

_            "I know.  And hey, if he comes in here to visit you, make sure someone's with you.  I don't trust him."_

_            "Neither do I."_

_            Sue sat up, resuming normal volume now that the scandalous issues were out of the way._

_            "Ludo said he might floo by if he has time later tonight."  _

_            "Oh no…then he'll want to talk about the game for ten hours."_

_            "Well, you know him.  He'll probably forget."_

_            "I hope so."_

_            Sue smiled and stood, rubbing her hands together._

_            "I have to go have a little chat with the Headmaster.  He wants to talk to me without Sovern there crying like a newborn."_

_            "Have fun," Selena said, yawning and slipping under her blankets.  "Eat a lemon drop for me."_

_            "I will.  Get some sleep."_

_            Selena curled up on her side, intent on doing exactly what Sue had said.  She was just beginning to drift off when the sound of breathing and the slight rustle of robes caused her eyes to flutter open._

_            "Remus!" she said._

_            He jumped at the sound of her voice.  He had been trying to place something very quietly on the cluttered table._

_            "Sorry!  I didn't mean to wake you, I just wanted to---"_

_            "You didn't wake me, I hadn't fallen asleep yet."_

_            "Oh.  Well, I just wanted to come by and see how you're feeling.  I miss you in Divination.  It's more boring than usual."_

_            "I would imagine.  Severus told me Trelawney has been going on and on about how she foresaw my injuries."_

_            Lupin nodded, smiling ruefully._

_            "You played an awesome game."_

_            "Thank you," she said, smiling.  Remus was always so nice…he knew exactly how to make a person feel special.  He hesitated, though, before his next statement._

_            "That was really low, what Malfoy did," he said at last._

_            "What, pulling my hair?  Yeah, I wasn't too pleased."_

_            "Well, that and…during the penalty shots…"_

_            Selena's eyes widened._

_            "You saw!?"_

_            "Yeah.  I was looking around for where the Snitch had gone and saw him lean in.  I knew you would never…"_

_            "I know.  I really can't believe he did that.  I don't understand."_

_            "Has he done things like that before?" Lupin asked, his brow creasing with worry._

_            "Never that directly.  He says things, sometimes.  He's very touchy-feely…" she said slowly, pondering his question.  "Come to think of it, he never passes up an opportunity to touch me.  It might just be how he is…"_

_            But it sounded lame even to her._

_            "He's…not the good type.  I know you're friends with him and all, but I don't like him," Remus said, shaking his head.  The grave and concerned look on his face didn't waver at all._

_            "Of course you don't like him, he's a Slytherin," she said, smiling._

_            "No.  It's not just that.  He's…well, forget it, who am I to tell you who to hang around with?"_

_            "I value your opinion and your advice, Remus," she assured him.  "I'm not really sure if I like him, anyway.  He makes no sense."_

_            Lupin sighed, his expression softening a bit._

_            "I find that my gender, on the whole, doesn't make much sense when it comes to trying to attract a girl's attention."_

_            "Remus," she said, glancing up to meet his eyes, "do you really think he likes me?"_

_            "Sirius acts like that when he's decided he likes a certain girl," Lupin replied, nodding.  "James, too.  Even Peter tries once in a while."  _

_            "You're probably right…I just never thought about it.  I mean, I figured he'd go for some Slytherin girl."_

_            "If it was anyone else he'd be the laughingstock of the House.  But he's a Malfoy.  He's the only one that could ever get away with it."_

_            "I'm sure he'd get over his infatuation very quickly if he ever found out that I'm not a pureblood," she mused.  Lupin's eyes went wide and he suddenly looked like he'd been drenched with a bucket of ice water._

_            "You're not a pureblood?"_

_            For a moment, she looked horrified.  Her eyes darted to him and then fixed on her hands, which were twining nervously in her lap._

_            "I didn't mean to say that out loud," she admitted, cringing.  "Things are still a little rattled up here, I guess," she added, tapping her forehead._

_            "So you and Severus…is it your Mother or your Father?"_

_            "Mother," she replied.  "She's a Muggle.  Of course no one thinks she is.  Father made it seem like she's a famous witch from the __United States__.  Everyone assumes it's just the good old antisocial Snape attitude that keeps us from entertaining anyone."_

_            "Wow.  Do you know that makes Severus the only person in Slytherin who's not a pureblood?" Lupin asked._

_            "I doubt that.  I'm sure there are others like us.  But you won't tell anyone, right?" she asked, looking at him with pleading eyes.  "If Sirius or anyone ever found out…"_

_            "It'll be our secret," he said, smiling and absently taking her hand between his.  _

_            For a person as delicate-looking as he was, he had large hands.  Long, graceful fingers, a warm, healthy grip…but his skin was rough.  Dry and lined as if he'd been doing farm work or some other hard labor all his life.  A strange thought wormed its way into her head.  What would those hands feel like against the bare skin of her stomach? _

_            "What's wrong?" he asked, noticing the odd expression that crept across her face._

_            "I…" she began, but she never finished.  Something dropped over her vision.  She could still see Remus, but it felt like she was regarding him through a layer of water or a stained-glass window.  The sensation that the Sorting Hat had given to her returned full force, impaling her mind and bursting behind her eyelids like a snowball exploding once it met its target.  Fragments of a thousand different sentences floated through her brain, a nonsensical cacophony that made her clap her hands over her ears.  Of course, it was to no avail since the voices weren't actually coming from around her – they were inside her head._

_            Remus felt panic rise in his chest as she squeezed her eyes shut and wrenched her hand away from him.  She twisted in the bed, pressing her palms tightly over her ears.  And then she whimpered, a strangely helpless and animalistic sound.  He understood that better than anything else._

_            He stood hurriedly, so quickly that he accidentally knocked over a few of the things on her table.  _

_            "Madame Pomfrey!" he called, dashing out of the cubicle.  The mediwitch was nowhere to be found.  Gods, where was the woman?!  She almost never left the Infirmary…_

_            The insistent rumble of his stomach reminded him that it was lunchtime.  She must be at lunch!  The school nurse had to eat, just like everyone else, and Selena had seemed fine up until a minute ago._

_            He checked on her quickly.  She was curled on her side, the blankets tangled around her legs.  Her hands still covered her ears and she writhed as if something horrible was being done to her.  She was in pain._

_            That sparked something in him, and even though he was still weak and achy from transforming just two nights ago, he took off down the corridor at full speed._

_            Madame Pomfrey's lunch would have to wait._

            *                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *           

            Harry narrowly avoided having his fingers crushed as Hermione unceremoniously dumped another heavy book onto his desk.

            "You've got to stop doing that," he said, giving her a slight glare.  "One of these days I'm going to lose a hand."

            "Feh," she replied, shrugging.  "It keeps your Quidditch reflexes sharp."

            "Either that, or it'll ruin my career," he conceded with a roll of his eyes.  "So what's this about?"

            "Well, I've been looking at the yearbooks in my spare time.  And," she said, turning the pages excitedly, "first of all, take a look at _that_."

            Harry leaned over to stare at the picture she was pointing to.  It took up about a quarter of the page, and it was only two people.  It was enchanted so that every now and then, one would lean to the other and kiss them on the cheek.  The girl was definitely Selena, a few years older than the last yearbook picture they'd seen.  Older, more developed…voluptuous.  The way she looked now, except a lot brighter and more naïve.  He frowned to himself and read the caption underneath the picture.

            "'Most Unexpected Couple'," he read out loud.  "They do superlatives in these yearbooks?"

            "Apparently," Hermione nodded.  "But look at the guy."

            "I don't recognize him," he shrugged.

            "Look closer.  Does he remind you of anyone?"

            Harry squinted at the picture.  The man in it didn't look much older than Selena.  As he watched, he turned his head to plant a kiss on Selena's cheek.  It actually turned into a bit of a bite, his teeth flashing and scraping along her skin.  This made her blush and laugh at the same time, at which point she pushed him away and they resumed their glittering smiles.  Come to think of it, there was something eerily familiar about the eyes and the shape of the face…

            "Malfoy!" he exclaimed, nearly dropping the book.

            "Yes.  Lucius Malfoy."

            "Whoa!  She wasn't a Slytherin, I can't believe that!"

            "What did she ever see in him?" Hermione wondered.

            "I have no idea, because he's a terrible git."

            "I know."

            "So they were a couple?  What a waste," Harry said, wrinkling his nose.  "For her, I mean.  She could do so much better."

            "I agree," Hermione said, nodding.  "This was their sixth year.  Now seventh year…it gets even more interesting."

            She pulled one book away from him and set another down.  It was open to the Ravenclaw seventh years.  To Harry's great surprise, the spot between Hannah Sherman and Michael Tanner was empty.  More specifically, it wasn't there at all.

            "Hey," he said, looking confused.  "Where's Selena?"

            "Exactly," Hermione said.  "She never graduated.  She's nowhere in this yearbook.  Everyone else that should be there is there – Snape, Sirius, your Father, Wormtail, Malfoy…everyone except Lupin."

            "Lupin's not in there?!"

            "Nope.  Apparently he didn't make it to graduation, either."

            "So the question is…"

            "Why didn't two of the best students in Hogwarts history ever graduate?"


	8. Dance of Deceit

            "She went out with Lucius Malfoy?  That git Draco's father?" Ron asked incredulously.  Harry was filling him in on their way to Divination.

            "Yeah.  But get this.  She was nowhere to be found in the yearbook for their seventh year."

            "You mean…?"

            "She never graduated from Hogwarts.  And guess who else never graduated?"

            "Who?"

            "Lupin."

            "No way!"

            "It's the truth."

            "This whole situation is getting weirder and weirder," Ron said with a shake of his head.  "Maybe we need to take another trip under the Invisibility Cloak to get some answers."

            "But she can see us under the cloak!"

            "Well, we'll just have to avoid her."

            "Maybe we can just ask her…" Harry said, as they made their way into the Divination classroom.

            To their surprise, the room was not nearly as dreary and heavy with incense as it usually was.  The curtains were drawn back and the windows were all open at least halfway.  The room was bright and flooded with the early autumn sun.  Harry and Ron found that they could breathe, which was almost always next to impossible in Divination. 

            "Every come in and take your seats!" Trelawney's voice shrilled, cutting through their amazement.  Harry and Ron were not the only disoriented students; many were crowded around the windows taking in the view that they were never allowed to see.

            "Sit down, sit down, you'll ruin her concentration!" the gaudily-dressed witch barked.  She sounded uncharacteristically annoyed, and sensing that, everyone shuffled to their seats.

            "Ruin whose concentration?" Ron muttered, collapsing onto a giant pink pouf.

            "Look!" Harry whispered, elbowing him in the side.

            "What?" he whined.  Why did everyone always insist on elbowing him like that?  His eyes followed where Harry was pointing and he quickly forgot his complaint.

            "What is she doing?" he wondered.

            "I don't know."

            In the very back of the classroom, settled among a pile of pillows and poufs, was Selena.  She sat Indian-style, her back perfectly straight.  The sunlight flowed over her and lit her hair, which was half up and half down, ablaze with bluish highlights and silvery shine.  Her eyes were closed and her hands rested limply on her knees.  Wait…upon second glance, her eyes weren't closed, at least not all the way.  A tiny bit of the white of her eye showed, and if one paid attention, one could see the slight fluttering of her lashes and the movement of her eyes beneath the lids.

            As most of the class began to stare at her in silence, her eyes flickered open.  They were glazed for a moment, but quickly regained their focus.  She registered their presence with a sweeping look around the room, but did not speak.  Instead, she picked up a nearby quill and a piece of parchment and began to write.

            "If I could have your attention," Professor Trelawney said with a clap of her hands.  "Today you are lucky enough to witness a psychic at work.  Selena has been here since early this morning in the process of what is known as filtering.  When a person has the Gift, the amount of information he or she can receive can, at times, be overwhelming.  Filtering is the process by which all this information can be sorted and hopefully understood.  It requires extreme concentration and mental focus, which is why I would ask you to please keep your voices down.  As a matter of fact, you may leave if you do not wish to stay and observe, as I do not plan on teaching any lessons."

            An incredulous murmur circulated through the room.  Classes were almost never cancelled, and now they had been twice in the same week!  And everyone's least favorite classes, no less – Potions and Divination!

            A few people filed out quietly, and Ron began to get up.  Harry stopped him, latching onto his elbow.

            "Let's stay for a few minutes, ok?" 

            "But she's just sitting there…" he whined, sinking back down onto his pouf.

            "Just a few minutes," Harry promised.

            "Lavender!  Parvati!  Not so close!" Trelawney snapped at the two girls, who had inched up almost to Selena's toes to watch.  Harry and Ron chuckled as they scrambled back about three feet.

            "What're you guys doing?" Dean Thomas asked, plopping down near them.  Seamus followed suit a moment later, looking mildly annoyed that his friend was delaying their exit.

            "Just watching for a few minutes," Harry answered.

            "Why?" Seamus said, making a face.  "I'm not sticking around for anyone related to Snape."

            "She's actually really nice," Ron said, giving Seamus a look.  "We've talked to her.  She's nothing like him."

            "But still," Seamus insisted, "she's not doing anything."

            A gasp from the mass of cushions in the back silenced their arguments.  By the time they looked, Selena was already on her feet.

            "Selena, dear, what is it?  Are they being too noisy, because I'll—"

            "No, no," she said, jumping over scattered cushions on her way to the door.  "It's just that the number of Malfoys under this roof is about to double."

            And with that, she lapsed into her Animagus form.  The coal-black tail of a panther was the last thing they saw before the trapdoor slammed shut.

            *                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

            Lucius was not at all surprised when Albus Dumbledore intercepted him not three steps into the castle.

            "Lucius, to what do we owe the honor?" the old wizard asked pleasantly, falling into step beside him. 

            "I am here on official Ministry business," he replied, his tone clipped.  He did not look at the man; those twinkling blue eyes were the one thing in the entire world, aside from Narcissa and Draco, that could tug on his conscience.

            "Is that so?" Dumbledore replied conversationally.  "What is it that the Ministry wants?  Because if I can be of any help…"

            "If you want to be of help, Headmaster, you will show me to Selena Snape."

            Dumbledore stopped in mid-stride.  Lucius had gone a little further before he realized that the old man was no longer with him.  He pivoted in the wide stone hallway, drawing himself up to his full and impressive height.

            "What does the Ministry want with her, Lucius?" Dumbledore asked, his tone uncharacteristically grave.  "Or perhaps I should ask what _you_ want with her?"

            Lucius snorted.

            "This is not about _us_," he snarled.  "This is a legitimate criminal charge.  I know she is here and I feel that it is my duty to inform you that you are harboring a murderer in this school!"

            "I fear you have been misinformed," Dumbledore said impassively.

            "Misinformation or not, Headmaster," he spat, producing a small scroll from his pocket.  "I have a warrant from the Ministry, signed by Mr. Fudge himself."

            "May I see it?"

            "Of course."

            He handed it over triumphantly, smirking at the old wizard as he affixed his spectacles and read the tiny, swirling script.  After a moment, he refolded the parchment and lifted his eyes to Lucius.

            "I think a simple Priori Incantatem would clear this up.  Clearly she could not have killed anyone if she has not cast the Killing Curse," he said, spearing his former student in a glance of appraisal.

            "Naturally that is what will take place, but I must take her into custody for formal questioning," Lucius replied, barely holding his cold, detached façade together.  _Damn_ this man for being able to see right through anyone who crossed his path…

            "I do not like to say this of one of my own former students, Lucius, but I fear for her safety if she is entrusted to you."

            "I am not a child, Headmaster.  I am beyond such petty ploys of vengeance."

            "I would hope so, Lucius.  But even so, considering your…_history_ with her, I do not think it unreasonable for someone else to conduct the arrest and questioning."

            "I thought it would be more to her comfort to have me escort her in place of the Dementors."

            "I am no fool, Lucius.  It has been a long time since you have cared about her comfort."

            Lucius was somewhat shocked at the bluntness of Dumbledore's words.  The Headmaster usually tried to maintain a pleasant air no matter what was afoot.  With his last statement, that doctrine had gone out the window.  His usual twinkle was hard and flinty now; he didn't think it possible, but he had managed to incense Albus Dumbledore.

            "Father!" Draco's voice drifted down the high-ceilinged hallway, saving them both from what could have become an ugly confrontation.

            "The Ministry would be very interested in your dogged support of a murderer," Lucius hissed, low enough that only Dumbledore heard.

            "Innocent until proven guilty, Lucius," the old wizard replied, pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose.  His eyes still held that disconcerting hardness.

            "I think I win this one, Headmaster."

            "It hurts me to see that life has become a game to you, Lucius."

            "Either you let me take her or the Ministry impeaches you."

            "We will speak of this later," the Headmaster replied.  "Come to my office after lunch.  For now I suggest you enjoy your time with your son."

            Dumbledore turned on his heel and walked away as Draco drew up to his father's side.

            "Hello, Father!" he said, smiling a smile that few were privileged enough to witness.  "I didn't expect you so soon!"

            *                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

            Dumbledore looked mildly surprised when he entered his office and found that he was not alone.  The look dissolved a moment later, however.

            "I should have known you would be a few steps ahead of me," he said with a sigh.

            "What is he here for?" she asked, twisting in her chair to look at him.  She straightened as he walked past and behind his desk, sitting a trifle heavily.

            "I'm afraid this is not looking good," he said after a moment, not bothering to conceal a frown.

            "So it's not a routine visit," Selena said, sagging in her seat.

            "No.  He has a warrant from the Ministry.  They're accusing you of murder."

            "What?!" she yelped, shooting out of her seat.  "Albus, I swear, I told you the truth!"

            "I know you did.  Do not worry, I doubt that there is a single grain of truth in whatever story they have concocted."

            "So who did I supposedly kill?"

            "The Muggle that Karkaroff killed."

            She sighed in disgust, rolling her eyes.

            "Well, what have the Muggle newspapers said about it?" she asked, tensing as she realized just how bad this could get if both the wizarding and muggle communities thought her a murderer.  She would be a fugitive on the level of Sirius Black.  And, just like Black, she was completely innocent.

            "They believe that Ms. Galina Dmitrov has been kidnapped by whoever murdered the gas station attendant."

            Her eyes slid shut in relief.

            "Well, at least someone is on my side," she muttered, reaching up to rub her temples.

            "I am on your side, Selena, and I will never hesitate in my support of you.  Unfortunately, with the current state of affairs…" Dumbledore trailed off, shaking his head with a faint expression of disgust.  "I cannot do much.  The Ministry already knows that you are here.  You know how easily they could convince every wizard in Britain that I have finally lost my faculties and that I am hiding a supposed murderer within the walls of this school, in close proximity to their children."

            "I understand, Albus," she said solemnly.  "Politics.  Bureaucracy.  I do not envy you, Headmaster.  But I also recognize that you are much more important than me in terms of the upcoming war."

            "War," he said, his eyes closing behind his half-moon spectacles.  "Oh, I did so hope that it was the end."

            "At least there has been peace."

            "Yes, peace.  And now half the world refuses to believe that Voldemort is back and the other half is too terrified to even know what to do about it."

            Selena sighed and picked up one of the many trinkets he had cluttering his desk.  It was a small glass sphere filled with some kind of liquid.  It swirled and undulated as she turned the small globe.  It was as if someone had liquefied and bottled the tail feathers of a peacock.

            "Severus made this," she murmured, turning it over in her hands.

            "Yes," Dumbledore nodded.  "When he first came back to us.  He couldn't sleep, so he stayed in that dungeon of his all night, simply…creating."

            "Penance."

            "Yes.  Making things instead of destroying them."

            Tears stung her eyes as she stared at the palm-sized ornament.  Her fist closed around it and she squeezed the cool glass tightly.

            "I tried so hard, Albus.  What did I do wrong?"

            "None of the fault lies with you, Selena.  You were still a child."

            "I am no longer a child and I still fall apart at the merest hint of adversity," she said bitterly, sniffling.

            "It is so like you, my dear, to worry more about your brother than yourself when it is you who is in danger."

            "He is always in danger."

            "Severus can take care of himself.  And when he cannot, I am here."

            She replaced the small globe in its spot and slouched in her chair.

            "So what does Lucius intend to do?"

            "Arrest you and take you to London for questioning."

            She could not hide a shiver.

            "You know as well as I that it will not be that simple."

            "I am loath to hand you over to him.  I know he will treat you badly.  I tried to negotiate, but, as always, his ears are closed."

            "I thank you for trying, Albus.  I will bear whatever he intends to do to me, and hopefully I will be back in a few days.  I am sure his accusations will not stand for very long.  Even he cannot conjure evidence out of thin air."

            "Let us hope so."

            "How much time do I have?" she asked wearily.

            "I will call for you after lunch."

            Selena could not keep the annoyance and disappointment from flashing across her face.

            "I was on to something, Albus.  Something big.  I felt it from the moment I woke up, and since then, I have seen much, but I don't understand how it all goes together.  But I fear…that Lucius's presence, him taking me away…my instincts are telling me that it is the trigger.  That everything else will come to be as a result of this."

            "No offense is intended, Selena, dear, but I do not need a psychic to tell me that awful things are coming."

            "Of course not," she said, smiling ruefully.  "Well, I suppose I should try to see what else I can pick up before I leave.  I certainly won't be able to concentrate around the Dementors, or in Azkaban."

            She stood abruptly, but paused, her eyes locked on the little crystalline sphere.

            "Take it with you," he said, raising his wand lazily and sending it floating toward her hand.  

She unlaced her fingers and it slid easily into her palm, a comforting yet insubstantial weight.  Her eyes raised and looked into his questioningly.

            "It is small enough to go unnoticed," he said.  "It is not magical, at least not on the outside.  Just a paper weight."

            She looked at it, at the oiled, rainbow beauty that swirled beneath the glass.

            "What's on the inside?" she asked.

            "A suicide potion," Dumbledore said quietly after a long stretch of silence.  "At the time of his return, neither Severus nor I knew how well our plan to use him as a spy would work.  There was the possibility that he would be discovered.  The Death Eaters are not kind to traitors.  I would rather he end his own life than suffer their torture."

            "Then I won't take it," she said, moving to place it back on the desk.  "I…I don't want him to suffer, either."

            "I ordered him to keep it.  But he staunchly refuses to carry it with him as a precaution.  He doesn't want my pity.  Or anyone's, for that matter."

            "But I _know_ something is going to happen to him."

            "So does he."

            "You expect me to have not a bit of fear about this just because he has none?  It is _not_ courage, Albus!  It is self-loathing recklessness!  It is nothing but the attempt of a shredded soul to ease its suffering!"

            "Why should I die painlessly when the blood of hundreds is burned into my skin?" her brother's voice drifted lazily through the door.  To the untrained ear, he sounded casual, nonchalant.  But it was obvious to both Dumbledore and Selena that the soft, emotionless tone held a wealth of pain and regret in it.

            "You have paid your dues, Severus," she said hotly, anger lacing her words.

            "You know nothing of what I've done.  Your judgment doesn't apply.  I am a man, Selena, and I will do what I wish."

            "Why are you up here _anyway_?" she spat, her hand coming up to cup her forehead in a gesture that seemed strangely desperate.

            "I figured there might be a party going on, what with Malfoy waltzing in."

            She paled visibly.  Naturally, he noticed.

            "Why is he here?" Snape asked carefully, his dark eyes alternating between Dumbledore (who looked every bit his age at the moment) and Selena, who either couldn't or wouldn't meet his gaze.

            "He is trying to pin the murder that Karkaroff committed on Selena," Dumbledore supplied, sensing that Selena was not eager to inform her brother of recent events.

            "That's ridiculous," Snape snorted.  "There is no evidence at all."

            "Which is why I think this is merely a ploy to exact some kind of revenge on Selena."

            Severus's head shot up and his arms unfolded at this statement.

            "Of course," Dumbledore went on, "I would protect her with my reputation and my life, if necessary.  But at the present time…"

            "It isn't an option," the Potions Master finished shortly.

            "Precisely," Dumbledore sighed.

            "Lucius…that…" he ground out, rapidly trailing off into a spate of Russian curses.  Both of the other people in the room knew that he only reverted back to use of the maternally-taught language when he was extremely angry.  She might have laughed at some of the things he wished on Lucius if the horrible, sinking sensation in her stomach hadn't told her that the dark wizard in question would probably be doing some of those things to her very soon.

            Severus calmed himself quickly, seeing how much his violent utterings were disturbing her.  He pressed his hands together, willing them to be still.

            "Why now?" he said, his eyes burning into Dumbledore.  "He has never made a move for her before.  What makes now any better than yesterday, or tomorrow?  And does he honestly think that I will let him whisk her away right under my nose?"

            "I do not know," the old wizard answered truthfully.

            "I do," Selena said.

            Both men turned to her, surprised by her quiet admission.

            "Think about it.  How could he have known I was here?"

            "Draco," Severus said immediately.  "I am sure the snotnose keeps a watchful eye for his father."

            "It's too quick," she said, shaking her head.  "I've hardly been here a week.  I had the displeasure of meeting Draco only yesterday.  And even if he sent a letter or spoke to Lucius, he knew nothing more than my name and that I was here.  Lucius couldn't have known about the incident at the gas station.  Unless…"

            "Karkaroff," Severus growled, his eyes narrowing.

            "Yes," she agreed softly.  "Karkaroff went to him.  I'm sure he didn't believe him right at the beginning, maybe even tried to kill him…but Lucius is a meticulous man.  He would have sounded the alarm on me anyway, just in case.  Which explains why the Dementors attacked me that night."

            "And if Draco confirmed that you were here…"

            "Karkaroff was proved right.  Which leads to more questions.  How much did Karkaroff tell him?  And how much is he willing to believe?"

            "He's testing me.  _Shit,_" Severus said through his teeth, pounding his fist against the back of the chair he was standing behind.  "If I try to protect you he'll run his mouth.  And it will sound much more believable coming from Lucius than from Karkaroff.  _Shit_."

            "And if you just let him take me," she sighed, running a hand through her pleasingly-mussed locks, "it's an uneasy truce.  You keep your secret.  He gets his opportunity for revenge."

            "He has no proof," Dumbledore interjected.  "And it is only natural for a brother to want to protect his sister.  That, in itself, is not unusual behavior."

            Snape shook his head.

            "Lucius wouldn't dare attempt this right in my face if he didn't have something up his sleeve.  We are not quite friends as we used to be, but there is still respect between us."

            "So he's very sure of himself," Dumbledore said, frowning.

            "Very.  And Lucius Malfoy in the know is a very dangerous thing."

            "So he is," the Headmaster agreed, contemplating his tin of lemon drops before taking one.  "Well!" he exclaimed a moment later with a clap of his hands.  "We have two hours to come up with something to use against him.  We need to…even the score, shall we say?"

            "Draco," Severus said immediately.  "The fool cares for his son."

            "No," Selena said.  "I hate Malfoys, but he's just a kid.  We do not need to drag him into this."

            "He'll probably just become a Death Eater in a few years anyway."

            "Let's not speed the process," she said sharply, casting her brother a dark look.  "Severus, I am not afraid for myself.  I can handle whatever he throws at me.  I am more afraid of him taking me away from you and then betraying you to the Dark Lord.  And I will only be able to sit helplessly in the dark and _know_ that you're hurting."

            "I will be discovered someday, sooner or later," he said resignedly with a small shrug.

            "You know how I hate feeling useless," she said softly, fixing him in a glare that even Dumbledore could not fathom.  Some unseen communication was going on, and the Headmaster mused that perhaps allegations of psychic connections between twins were not so ungrounded…

            Finally, Severus sighed heavily.  He took two steps towards the center of the room and snatched the suicide globe from Dumbledore's desk.

            "Fine," he said, approaching his sister.  He took her by the wrist and pulled her hand up, placing the sphere in her palm and closing her fingers around it.  "Have it your way.  But we're going to make a deal."

            She looked at him warily.  He leaned down slightly, so that he was on eye-level with her.

            "As long as you have this in your possession," he said, his hand tightening over hers ever so slightly, "I promise to live.  _But_," he said hurriedly, noticing the burst of relief that streaked across her face, "you have to promise me that if you have the chance to escape him, to incapacitate him, even to kill him, you won't hesitate because of me."

            *                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

            "_Remus!  Hello?"_

_            Lupin blinked as his mind finally registered that the annoying blob moving in his field of vision was Sirius's hand._

_            "What," he said irritably, shoving the offending appendage away._

_            "Easy, Moony," Sirius said, holding his hands up defensively.  "It's just that you were staring at that spot on the wall for so long that we started to think you'd slipped into a coma or something."_

_            "Yeah, what's wrong with you?" James piped up, twirling his quill between his fingers._

_            "Nothing's wrong with me," he said, emphasizing the last word._

_            "Oh, are you still worried about that Ravenclaw girl?" James asked, rolling his eyes._

_            "What Ravenclaw girl?" Sirius asked, his interest immediately piqued._

_            "You forgot already?  The one who almost died on the Quidditch field?  The one who freaked out when Remus was visiting her?"_

_            "Oh," Sirius said, making a face.  "That Ravenclaw girl.  What's the big deal, Moony?  Pomfrey said she'd be fine."_

_            "You weren't there.  You didn't see her," Remus said sullenly._

_            "Thank God," Sirius said crassly.  "I'm not sure which is worse, the male or female version of a Snape!"_

_            Across the room, Peter chuckled.  James, however, could see Lupin's face, and clearly Remus found no humor in that remark.  He bit his lip.  Sirius did have a bad habit of insulting anyone freely and without shame, and usually they all got a laugh out of it.  But this time it seemed that he'd crossed a line.  One that he'd never before stepped over with the quietest of their group.  This could get ugly._

_            Remus stood up and slammed his book shut.  He looked pointedly at his friend an enunciated,_

_            "Fuck off, Sirius."_

_            And then he breezed out of the room, leaving three wide-eyed, slack-jawed Gryffindors in his wake._

_            "I've never heard him say the f-word," Peter said in awe._

_            "Me either.  You must have pissed him off royally, Sirius," James concurred._

_            "He likes her!" Sirius burst out, jumping down from the desk he'd been perched on.  A ridiculous smile spread across his face.  "Moony likes a girl!"_

_            "Of course he does, you daft idiot!  And you just insulted her!" James cried, throwing his hands up in exasperation._

_            "Eh.  So I did.  Guess I should go apologize."_

_            "Yeah, I think you should.  I've never seen him so angry."_

_            Sirius waved his words away, still aglow from his realization that Remus had a crush on Selena Snape._

_            James sighed and turned to Peter as Sirius disappeared into the dormitory._

_            "Why is he so stupid sometimes?" he asked._

_            "Got me," Peter replied with a noncommittal shrug._

_            "He's a genius," James mused, nibbling the end of his quill.  "And yet, sometimes he just does the dumbest things…"  _


	9. Pride

A/N – Sorry this update took a while.  I've been sick and it isn't easy to write when your head feels like it's being smushed.  Plus that whole stopping every five minutes for a tissue, ya know…but here it is.

"I will not stop you from arresting Selena," Dumbledore said, lacing his fingers together and leaning toward his former student.  "But Professor Flitwick _will_ accompany her as her spokesperson."

            "The Ministry would appoint one for her," Lucius said through his teeth, unable to contain his irritation.

            "There is no need for that, as Filibus has quite a bit of experience in this area."

            "We do not have room for him."

            "Then you will make room.  He's a small man."

            "The Ministry will not agree."

            "You are not yet powerful enough to make decisions for the whole of the Ministry, Lucius.  Filibus will accompany you, whether you like it or not," Dumbledore said, staring over his spectacles warningly.  He looked every bit like a parent ordering a child to never, _ever_ do that again.

            Lucius's lips pursed into a thin, bloodless line.  One ankle twitched over the other in a mirror of a nervous gesture of his school days.  That fidgeting had occurred most often during a particularly difficult Transfiguration class, when he couldn't remember the answer to a question or his specimen was not changing the way it was supposed to.  He had never had to concentrate on anything the way he'd strained his mind in that class.  And now he was straining similarly, trying to find a way around the accompaniment of the diminutive Charms professor.

            "It is a useless gesture," Lucius said at last.  "He will only be pulled into the trial."

            Dumbledore chuckled.

            "You have never seen Filibus at work.  The trial does not pull him.  He pulls the trial."

            "The Ministry will not---"

            "Professor Flitwick will be with her at all times, and that is final.  Do not push me, Lucius."

            Lucius bit the inside of his lip, willing the words that wanted to spill out to be silenced.  It would do him no good to annoy the elder wizard any further.  It had been rather stupid of him to assume Dumbledore – or Severus, for that matter – would leave Selena to a Ministry-appointed spokesperson.  He hadn't known that Flitwick had experience in that area, and even with that new knowledge, he still couldn't picture the tiny, cheerful man grilling a suspect, making fiery speeches, or swaying a jury.  Then again, he'd never paid the man much attention at all.  And besides, he'd always suspected that the cheeriest people were the ones who held the most secrets.

            "When will she be ready to leave?" he asked finally.

            "Half an hour at most."

            "I will be back."

            Lucius rose from his seat and took his leave, resisting the urge to smack Dumbledore's ogling phoenix with his cane.  That certainly wouldn't earn him any points, but oh, someday…

            He made his way down the spiral staircase and passed by the gargoyle, deep in thought already.  His feet led him on a familiar path.  Madam Pince gave him an odd look when he breezed into the library, no doubt recognizing him and wondering why in the name of Merlin he needed to disrupt her territory again.  In spite of his less than immaculate reputation with the library, however, he found the books he wanted in minutes.

            He took a seat at an empty table, settling back into the chair as if he belonged nowhere else.  He saw a few young Slytherins whispering excitedly a few tables away.  The corners of his lips twitched.  It must be thrilling for them to see such a famous person, and a Slytherin no less, sitting in their own library.

            He began to read, but halted a few moments later when he could not shake the sense that someone was watching him.  He looked up, making it seem like he'd simply paused his reading to contemplate something.  There, to the far right, was the Granger mudblood.  She was staring at him, and boldly, too, without any pretense of disguise.

            The room suddenly felt too dirty for his tastes.  He closed the book and tapped the small stack he'd gotten with his wand, muttering something.  They shrunk to palm size, and he stuffed them in his pocket.  He'd have more time to pour over them if he kept them, anyway.

            Yes, if he could not prevent Flitwick's presence, he could at least know what to expect from the deceptively simple Charms Master.

            *                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

            "Earth to Hermione!  Hermione?"

            "Oh!  Ron.  Sorry."

            "What's the matter?  You looked as if you'd been petrified again."

            "I was just thinking."

            "About what?" Ron asked, catching the book she'd brushed with her elbow as it threatened to tip off the table.

            "Lucius Malfoy was just in here."

            "Oh, yeah, he's been around all morning, the ugly git."

            "He has?"

            "Yeah, Selena predicted him coming about ten minutes into Divination."

            "Did she say why?"

            Ron shook his head.

            "He took some books with him.  I think something is up."

            "Did you see what he took?"

            "No, but they were from that section over there.  Should we look?"

            "Can't hurt," he shrugged.

            They stood and cautiously retraced Malfoy's steps, making sure to avoid Madam Pince's hawk-like vision.  As they rounded a shelf, however, it became clear why she hadn't yelled at them for tiptoeing into the Restricted Section.  She was staring at one of the shelves, her hands on her hips, and sputtering angrily to herself.

            "Curse that Malfoy!  Taking books right under my nose, thinking I won't notice…"

            "Is…everything all right, Madam Pince?" Hermione asked hesitantly.  "We heard you…"

            "Oh, Hermione, dear, there's nothing you can do.  Unless you can tell me why on earth that Malfoy prat would want to clean me out of books on our dear Professor Flitwick," she said, gesturing angrily at a rather obvious gap in the row of books.

            "Professor Flitwick?" she asked incredulously.  That _definitely_ didn't bode well for the jovial Charms professor.

            "Yes, all four books we had on him are gone and I saw Malfoy lurking about a few minutes ago.  And now both he and the books are gone, how _strange_," she said sardonically.

            "I'm sorry, Madam Pince.  Are you sure there's nothing we can do to help?" 

            "No, Hermione, but thank you anyway.  If you see any spare books lying around the castle do be a darling and bring them back."

            "Of course," Hermione said, nodding and then turning, pushing Ron in front of her until they were out of the flustered librarian's earshot.  Ron shook his head, trying to dispel the feeling that he hadn't existed for the last few minutes.

            "What does he want with Flitwick?" he asked, his face taking on a familiar baffled expression.

            "I don't know!" she whispered fiercely.  "But whatever it is, it can't be good."

            "Maybe we should go ask Dumbledore?"

            "I think that would be a good idea."

            "Should I go get Harry?"

            She nodded.  In all likelihood, this involved Harry in some way.  Everything involved Harry these days.

            "Ok.  Meet you at the gargoyle in fifteen minutes?"

            "Deal."

            *                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

            Ron made his way through the drafty, labyrinthine hallways.  Harry had mentioned something about a letter to Sirius at lunch, so he directed himself towards the Owlrey.  If he was lucky, he'd catch Harry on his way out.

            The Owlrey was on the exact opposite end of the castle from the library, so he increased his pace to a light jog.  The halls were fairly full since lunch had just ended, and he thanked Merlin for all the pick-up Quidditch games he'd played with his brothers, because if he'd learned anything from them, it was how to make it through a crowd at high speed.

            He sped up a bit as he freed himself from the more traveled hallways.  He was about halfway there, and he'd be crossing over the main entranceway in a moment.  He heard the tell-tale echoes and prepared himself to dash around several dozen people.

            However, he found as he came to the junction of the two hallways that there was no way he could get through.  A large crowd several rows deep was assembled and gave no sign of moving.  He began to push through, but stopped dead in his tracks as the whispers around him processed in his mind.

            "What did you say?" he asked the diminutive Hufflepuff that was plastered against his side.  She squeaked in fear and pointed to a tall Ravenclaw boy in front of her.  Ron reached out and tapped him on the shoulder.

            "What's going on?" he whispered.  Ron Weasley was by no means short, but the other boy was taller and probably had a much better view.

            "The Ministry is taking Snape's sister," the other boy whispered back.  The hall had gone quiet, and loud, crescendo boot clicks could be heard.

            "Don't look so sad, Weasley," Draco Malfoy's voice piped up.  Ron whirled to face the sneering blond boy.

            "What are you looking so smug about, Malfoy?  I'd say you had a shit-eating grin on your face but that might be too close to the truth."

            Ron had the momentary satisfaction of seeing Malfoy's cheeks redden.  A few people had the audacity to giggle and point; most just backed away, having seen the blond and redhead tangle before.

            "She's a murderer, Weasley," Draco snapped, his grey-blue eyes flashing dangerously.  "She's going to rot in Azkaban."

            "She didn't kill anyone," Ron said through his teeth, his temper rising to match Malfoy's.  "It was that idiot Death Eater Karkaroff!  I bet you and your stupid prat of a father sat and had tea with him and discussed how to frame her!"

            The semicircle of people around them had inched away even more, and when Draco lunged forward, their space grew by a few more feet.  Malfoy's fist was headed for Ron's stomach, but Ron managed to get his arm down to block the punch.  Seconds later, Draco was on the floor looking stunned as blood began to pour down his face.

            "You ugly, disgusting, second-hand commoner," he hissed, standing more quickly than he should have and advancing on Ron.  Ron did not back away in spite of the fact that Draco looked more than a little crazed, especially with blood rapidly covering his front.  "Don't you ever insult my father again or I swear I will find a way to land your ugly whore of a mother in Azkaban right next to the Snape bitch."

            Ron's eyes had gone wide, but it wasn't because of Draco's threat.  His glance was fastened firmly above his opponent's left shoulder.

            "Would you care to repeat that, Mr. Malfoy?"  Snape's voice was like molten silk, soft enough to calm a baby to sleep and so full of malice that it made the entire circle of witnesses shudder involuntarily.  

Draco blanched.  Ron would have laughed, but he was too tense to do anything but stare at the obviously irate Potions Master.  He thought that if he ever saw Snape glaring at him like that, he would turn on his heel and run.  Run faster than he had ever run.  He knew now that the sharp, acerbic glances usually reserved for Neville, Harry, Hermione, and himself were far from murderous.  In fact, they seemed like simple exasperation compared to this.

"N-no, Sir," Draco stammered, finally reaching up to wipe the blood from his face with the sleeve of his robe.  Ron was not fooled; he knew it was a deliberate gesture to conceal the quivering of his lip.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor," Snape enunciated, his eyes flickering to Ron.  "Start another fight, Weasley, and you'll have detention in the dungeons for the rest of your career at Hogwarts."

Ron's mouth fell open, but he didn't have the courage to yell at the ridiculous man.  It was unjust, but twenty points was a relatively low amount coming from Snape.  But he couldn't imagine that the head of Slytherin would ignore such a personal insult…he let his house get away with a lot, but the man did have a measure of pride.

Ron's anger faded as Snape seized Draco by the neck of his robes and pulled him roughly about.  This was a moment to be remembered.  Snape was actually going to discipline a Slytherin.

"And fifty points from Slytherin," he said, the molten silk returning.  He leaned in until his face was inches from Draco's.  "I hope Weasley has taught you to hold your tongue.  You certainly don't want me teaching you that particular lesson."

"N-no, Sir!" Draco squeaked, shrinking away from the extremely intimidating Potions Master.  Ron thought to himself that the only thing that could have made Malfoy more pathetic was if he wet himself.  Unfortunately, much to the audience's disappointment, Draco was able to control his bladder.  A moment later, Snape straightened to his full height, still glaring imperiously at the fair-haired boy in front of him.

"Now get yourself to the Infirmary before you make any more of a mess.  Any more blood on the floor and Filch will be after you like Peeves," the Professor snapped, steering Draco away from the crowd with a grip so tight that the boy was cringing visibly.

"What just happened?" the tall Ravenclaw boy said out loud.  He was not the only one who was shocked and confused.  

Ron felt as if he'd survived a brush with death.  The twenty points meant nothing.  He simply stood and breathed for a minute, and then he could not contain a snort of laughter.  He doubled over and eventually sat on the floor.  He knew it was completely inappropriate, but Ron could not help himself.  He laughed until he cried and Seamus Finnigan pushed through the crowd to pick him up and drag him off.

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

"Have you gone loopy?" Seamus practically screamed, throwing him onto the couch in the Gryffindor Common Room.  "If Snape had come back and seen you giggling like that---!"

"Come off it, Seamus!  Didn't you see the look on Malfoy's face?!"

"Of course I did, but it would have been the look on _your_ face if I hadn't dragged you away!"

"I broke his nose, Seamus, and all I got was twenty points off!"

"In case you didn't know that Selena woman was being dragged off to Azkaban during your fit."

That sparse statement made Ron's grin disappear.

"She didn't do anything," he mumbled, looking at his hands as they rested in his lap.

"Well it was Lucius Malfoy that was seeing her out, and that spells doom.  Flitwick was with them, though.  I don't know why."

"Flitwick?" Ron asked, looking up.  "He wasn't under arrest, was he?"

"No," Seamus said, shaking his head.  "But he didn't seem like himself."

"What do you mean?"

"He wasn't smiling.  He looked…"

"Authoritative?" a female voice supplied.

"Exactly," Seamus agreed.

"Hermione, I couldn't get through the crowd…" Ron started.

"No worries, Ron.  She found me," Harry said, looking over her shoulder with a smile.  "Heard you cracked Malfoy a good one."

"And we heard something really weird, too," Hermione said, plopping down next to him on the couch.  "We heard that Snape took points off his own house!"

"He did," Ron said, the grin returning.  "Fifty of them."

"What?!" Harry and Hermione shrieked in unison.

"Who was it?" Harry demanded.

"What did they do?" Hermione asked at the same time.

"Draco Malfoy.  He insulted Selena and Snape was right there."

"Oooohhh," Harry breathed.  He couldn't keep himself from smiling.

"It must be tough for him to just let Malfoy take her away," Hermione said.

"He can't protest, though, because—" Ron stopped himself, his glance shifting to Seamus.  Seamus rolled his eyes.

"I know Malfoy's a Death Eater," he said, sounding exasperated.  "I can't stand when you guys are all secretive like that."

"It's better that way.  I mean, look at our track record, Seamus.  Hermione's been petrified and tied up underwater and called that awful name.  Ron's gotten clobbered in a lifesize version of wizard's chess, broken his leg, and also been tied up underwater."

"And stuck in a room with Gilderoy Lockheart," Ron added.

"That too.  I've…well, it would be a long list." 

Seamus shrugged.

"So why do the most informed people in school think Flitwick was with her?" he asked.  There was no ill meaning in his statement; he simply knew that if anyone would know, it was the three of them.

"No idea," Hermione answered for them.  "But if I could get some time in the library…"

"Well, let's look at it from a different angle…what possible reasons are there for him to go with her?" Harry said.

"We know he's not in trouble."

"Maybe they need him to testify?"

"No, that doesn't make any sense.  She didn't mention him at all."

"Well hey," Ron said.  "He is the head of Ravenclaw."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Seamus asked blankly.

"Selena was a Ravenclaw," Hermione clarified.

"Not a Slytherin?"

"Nope."

"Wow."

"So Flitwick definitely dealt with her," Harry mused.  "He probably knows the whole story."

"Well whatever the reason, he didn't look too happy with Malfoy," Seamus said, shaking his head.  "I'm going to see if I can find Lavender.  If you hear anything, let me know, ok?"

"Sure," Ron said amicably, patting Seamus on the shoulder.  "And thanks."

"No problem," the other boy said, getting up off the couch.  "Just don't go into any giggling fits without me around."

"I'll try to restrain myself."

The three of them watched him go, and a moment later, Hermione shot up and announced that she was going to the library.

"What's the point, 'Mione?" Ron asked.  "Malfoy has the books on Flitwick."

"Why would there be books about Flitwick, anyway?" Harry asked.

"He must've done something important.  Maybe he was an Auror?"

"Can you picture him as an Auror?"

"No, but I never pictured Sirius as my godfather until I got up close and personal," Harry said.

At that moment, the portrait swung open and the stern-faced Professor McGonagall stepped in.  Her glance went first to Ron, her lips pursing in disapproval.

"I'm not going to ask how you only managed to get twenty points off for breaking Draco Malfoy's nose.  Professor Snape must be in an excessively sunny mood," she huffed.  "And as for the rest of you, the Headmaster wishes to see you.  He would rather clear the air now instead of having you traipse all over the castle in search of the answers."

Hermione was the only one who didn't smile.  She had been looking forward to immersing herself in the library, and now Dumbledore was depriving her of her fun.

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

_April, Fifth Year:_

_            There were very few people in the world who knew, but Selena Snape didn't play Quidditch because she liked the game.  In fact, it annoyed her most of the time.  It was exceedingly dangerous for everyone but the Beaters, and more often than not, she found herself nursing bruises and other assorted injuries that would bench an athlete in the Muggle world._

_            No, she played Quidditch because she liked to fly.  The added bonus that she was extremely talented on a broomstick was what had made Ludo beg her to join the team less than a month into her first year.  She remembered sitting across from him one day during lunch.  Even then he'd taken a liking to her, treating her much like the little sister he never had.  It had been a day before the first Quidditch match of the season, Ravenclaw versus Slytherin, and of course the Slytherin team was in fine form.  The Ravenclaw table had been ducking bits of food for the entirety of the meal so far, and the assault showed no sign of diminishing._

_            It had just been a reaction, an instinctual movement born separate of conscious thought.  Her hand had shot up as a clump of mince pie flew towards Ludo.  It never reached him; instead it met a soggy end in her fist.  Ludo had grabbed her by the wrist to keep her from firing it back at the Slytherin table, and then just stared at her for what seemed like a full two minutes.  During that time a gob of mashed potatoes got him on the temple, but he didn't care._

_            "Can you fly?" he'd asked very simply, ducking a wad of bread._

_            "Of course," she answered, looking perplexed.  "All first years learn how to."_

_            "No, I mean…__Can.__ You. Fly?"_

_            "I…guess I'm pretty good at it.  Madame Hooch said so…" she replied, stifling a giggle.  The potato had begun to drip down his cheek._

_            "Come to the Quidditch practice tonight.  It's at seven."_

_            "Why?"_

_            "Because I think you can play, Selena.  You just don't know it yet.  Will you come?"_

_            She shrugged.  Ludo had been good to her thus far, very good.  She supposed she could do him this little favor.  They'd only find out that she was awful at Quidditch anyway…people didn't just hop on a broom and suddenly know how to play the sport, did they?  It took years of practice._

_            "Sure," she said._

_            His thousand-watt smile lit his face.  He looked like someone who'd awakened on Christmas morning to find an Olympic-sized swimming pool full of presents waiting for him.  To this day she still believed that his smile was the single happiest expression on the face of the earth.  It always made her blush, no matter what.  It was just so ridiculously jubilant that it made her feel guilty for not being as happy as him._

_            A moment later he'd shot to his feet, grabbing a hard-boiled egg from his plate._

_            "Ravenclaw!  To arms!" he shouted.  The entirety of the table had been waiting for this command, obviously not enjoying being pelted by food every other second.  In a beautiful flurry of blue and yellow, the worst food fight in the history of Hogwarts began._

_            She smiled to herself as she remembered the aftermath.  Since the teachers hadn't a clue where the fight started, they'd simply decided to punish everyone.  The punishment took the form of not being able to change their robes before their next classes, so the whole of Hogwarts (except for those who'd been holed up in the library – lucky Severus) spent the rest of the day in a mingle of salty smells and soggy robes.  Even that backfired, though, when the sixth and seventh years decided it might be fun to lick the food off each other._

_            Those had been the days.  There had been a sense of fun at Hogwarts, a youthful penchant for mischief that always kept things interesting.  But lately…the slow rise of the Dark Wizard Voldemort had put a damper on life.  Three students had returned home over the Christmas holidays and found a charred, smoking heap where their homes had once been.  Everything became more somber after that; jokes didn't fly as easily, pranks were put off, and everyone, teachers included, was jumpy and agitated._

_            That was part of the reason she snuck out to fly every other night.  She knew it was dangerous, but that had never stopped her from doing anything.  The curfews and restrictions had gotten much worse since the holidays, and she couldn't help feeling like she was under house arrest at times.  It made her restless; she wasn't like Severus, she couldn't spend all day inside.  Besides, the grounds of Hogwarts were safe.  No one could apparate onto them, and she would be able to tell if someone was coming through the __Forest__.  Being on her broom in the air gave her a distinct advantage if anyone was stupid enough to try to sneak into or attack Hogwarts._

_            And, above everything else, obeying all those ridiculous rules would be giving that Dark Wizard what he wanted.  Panic, paranoia, an entire nation of wizards and witches living in fear…she refused to contribute to it.  Flying under cover of darkness after curfew wasn't much of a protest, but still, it was something._

_            It was an oddly warm and humid night, and she found herself sweating beneath her heavy robes.  This wasn't typical April weather.  After twenty minutes she felt so saturated and disgusting that she simply had to get her robes off.  She dropped down near the edge of the __Forbidden__Forest__, hoping as she tossed the fragrant robes aside that the heat would break before the next Quidditch match._

_            She was wearing Muggle clothing underneath.  She hesitated for a second, wondering what would happen if anyone saw her in it.  It was a rather skimpy outfit compared to the austere nightgowns most young witches wore to bed.  Well, what did it matter; there was no one out her but herself and whatever creatures lurked in the __Forest__.  And she wasn't about to go plunging in to see what those creatures were._

_            She fanned herself for a moment, willing the wet stickiness on her skin to dry.  She'd definitely have to change before she went to bed; her tank top and shorts were too soggy to sleep in comfortably._

_            Selena hung her robe on a branch and was about to soar back into the sky when a distinctive snapping noise sounded from within the __Forest__.  She'd seen enough Muggle movies to know when a twig was snapped under the tread of a villain.  She listened closely, and was not surprised to hear more sounds, rhythmic crunching of dead leaves.  Footsteps._

_            She got onto her broom quickly and distanced herself from the lip of the woods.  She was glad she had tucked her wand into the waistband of her shorts instead of putting it in the pocket of her robe, as she usually did.  This way, she could defend herself – and Hogwarts – from whoever or whatever was about to come out of those woods._

_            As a black-clad figure broke from the trees, she pointed her wand.  Ready…aim…_

_            "Stupefy!"_

_            The figure went down with a muffled cry as the spell hit him square in the chest.  He fell rather ungracefully to the dewy grass and lay perfectly still.  He was stunned, temporarily unconscious.  She listened hard for the footsteps of anyone following him, and when her ears could pick up nothing more than the normal sounds of night, she slowly lowered herself to the earth._

_            Selena approached warily.  She had also seen enough Muggle movies to know that half the time a villain appeared unconscious, he wasn't.  But it soon became clear that this person was definitely passed out, his limbs splayed awkwardly and his hooded face turned away from her.  A worm of fear wriggled its way into her stomach; she hoped he wasn't someone important, like a teacher or anyone she shouldn't have been shooting spells at in the dead of night._

_            She knelt next to him and gingerly checked for a pulse.  Well, good, she hadn't killed him, at least.  Could a stunning spell do that?  She supposed if it was done too many times in succession it could be harmful – the whole too much of a good thing concept.  But he was fine, as far as she could tell.  Just knocked out.  Now to see who he was…_

_            She turned his head towards her and pushed the hood back.  Her jaw dropped.  She cursed softly in Russian, lifting him so he was cradled in her lap.  What the hell had he been doing in the __Forbidden__Forest__?  The idiot…_

_            "Innervate," she murmured, touching the tip of her wand to his chest.  His body jerked briefly and then his eyelids rose slowly.  He groaned and turned his face into her chest.  He lay there for a moment, and then, obviously remembering what had happened, his hands shot up to her shoulders.  He expected to find a handhold there in the collar or her robes, but there was nothing but the thin straps of her tank top.  He settled for her skin instead, his fingers gripping tightly as he sprung from her lap and pinned her in one smooth movement._

_            "Lucius…!" was all she managed before his hand went over her mouth.  She thought about biting him, but that would just piss him off or turn him on, and she didn't particularly want to invoke either.  So she lay still, painfully aware of his knee pressing into her hip and the bruises his fingers had caused along her shoulders.  For a moment she was afraid; he looked angry, very angry, and much more dangerous than usual.  But then his brow furrowed and his eyes lost their lethal gleam, and he whispered,_

_            "Selena?"_

_            She nodded and he quickly lifted his hand from her mouth._

_            "I'm sorry," he murmured.  "Did I…what the hell are you wearing?"_

_            "It's Muggle clothing," she said, pushing him off and sitting up to fix herself._

_            "Why are you wearing it?" he asked, wrinkling his nose.  There was an edge of disdain in his voice._

_            She rolled her eyes and replaced the strap of her tank top._

_            "What, you don't like me hanging out of my clothes?" she teased._

_            "Of course I do," he amended, trying not to look at her.  He'd never seen shorts that short, and was trying to ignore just how attractive her long, muscled legs were.  "But…"_

_            "It's more comfortable than those ridiculous nightgowns," she said with a shrug._

_            "Well whatever.  I'm sorry I went crazy like that.  I thought you were the person who attacked me…speaking of that, we shouldn't be out here in case he's still lurking…"_

_            "I was the one who attacked you."_

_            "What?" he said, his head jerking around so he could look at her._

_            "I was practicing flying and I stopped to take off my robe," she said, pointing to where it hung on a tree.  "And I heard you coming through the __Forest__ and I thought you might be someone…"_

_            "Unsavory?"_

_            "Yes.  So I went back up on my broom and waited for you to come out, and then I stunned you.  I'm sorry."_

_            To her surprise, he smiled._

_            "It's ok.  I would have done the same thing."_

_            She looked at him askance for a moment, and then spared a moment to be annoyed._

_            "What the hell were you doing out here anyway?"_

_            "Nothing any better than what you were doing."_

_            "I told you.  Why can't you tell me?"_

_            One pale eyebrow arched._

_            "Because that's not how it works," he said, smirking._

_            "How does it work, then, oh wise Malfoy," she snorted, rolling her eyes._

_            "How it works," he said, leaning forward until their noses almost touched, "is that I blackmail you until we're even.  I can get you suspended from the Quidditch team."_

_            "You wouldn't," she said, her eyes narrowing._

_            "Wouldn't I?"_

_            "You're forgetting something, Lucius.  I could have just left you here, you know.  I could have reported you as a spy for the Dark Wizard.  And," she said, plucking her wand from the waistband of her shorts and pointing it right between his eyes, "I still can."_

_            He looked faintly shocked.  There was no denying what she had said; the cool touch of her wand between his brows told him that she was not joking._

_            "And you know what else?" she continued, tilting her head to the side and regarding him thoughtfully.  "I could say you attacked me.  You've certainly given me enough new bruises to prove that."_

_            "All right," he said grudgingly.  "You win."_

_            She smiled pleasantly and lowered her wand.  He watched her as she went to retrieve her robe.  Gods, he'd always known she was pretty, but he'd never seen her in anything but robes before.  If he'd known that this was what the heavy fabric hid…_

_            Well, if she was going to be nasty, he had every right to get even.  He procured his wand from his sleeve and raised it._

_            "Immobulis!"_

_            Her eyes went wide as she froze in midmotion, unable to move.  Her heart began to pound.  Oh god, maybe he DID work for the Dark Wizard and he was going to…_

_            "I swear to god, Malfoy, if you touch me I'll kill you," she said, feeling a chill zip down her spine as his fingers brushed over the bruises he'd made a few minutes before._

_            "Relax," he said, cupping her chin as he came around to face her.  "I just want to make a confession without you tossing hexes at me.  I want you to listen instead of shooting your mouth back at me."_

_            "This is not the way to get someone's attention," she scowled._

_            "Don't make me put a silencing spell on you."_

_            "Don't make me castrate you," she breathed murderously._

_            "See?  This is exactly what I mean.  You don't take me seriously.  Why?"_

_            "Because you're a prick, Malfoy.  You've never given me a single reason to take you seriously.  The only reason I'm civil around you is because you're friends with my brother."_

_            "I'm a prick," he said thoughtfully.  "I've heard that before, but never from someone I cared about."_

_            She blinked, her retort lost in a moment of confusion._

_            "Yes," he said before she could recover.  "I care about you.  I think I even like you.  And you know why?  Because you give as good as you get.  I've never met a girl that was as much of a challenge as you are."_

_            She was quiet, watching him as he bit his lip and began to pace in front of her._

_            "Now," he said at last, looking up, "that fact can do two things to us.  It can either make us bitter enemies…"_

_            "Or?"_

_            "Or the sweetest of lovers."_

_            "Lucius, we're only sixteen," she said, feeling her blood rush through her body just a little bit faster._

_            "If it were a hundred years ago you wouldv'e been married for four years already," he said, waving a hand dismissively._

_            "It's not a hundred years ago."_

_            "That isn't the point."_

_            "Then what is the point, Lucius?"_

_            "I won't lie, Selena," he said, striding forward and looking down at her.  "I find you very, very attractive in so many ways.  I would much rather have you as a lover than an enemy."  His thumb traveled gently over her lower lip and his eyes lingered where his touch had been.  For a moment she was afraid he was going to kiss her, but then he turned away.  "Of course I am not the only one who has a vote on this matter," he said with a sigh.  "So I leave it up to you.  Take as long as you like to think about it.  But please let me know, so we can get on with the hating or loving."_

_            "I can't love you if I can't trust you, Lucius," she replied softly._

_            "You're psychic, aren't you?" he asked._

_            "Yes… to a degree," she murmured, caught off guard by the question._

_            He raised his wand and flicked his wrist._

_            "Finite incantatum."_

_            Her first instinct was to take a step away from him.  The second was to wrap her arms around herself.  This was the oddest encounter she'd ever had with Lucius, and it was bothering her.  And it was mostly because she didn't know how to feel.  Usually it was easy to pick an emotion to apply to him, but now she was lost.  Most disturbing was the fact that he seemed lost, as well._

_            "Read me," he said simply, dropping to his knees._

_            "What?"_

_            "Read my mind.  See everything.  I know you can.  Severus told me."_

_            "You don't want me to, Lucius, trust me.  I'll see things you don't want me to see."_

_            "I wouldn't ask you to do it if I had anything to hide."_

_            "Everyone has things to hide, Lucius."_

_            "There is nothing for me to keep hidden from you.  I trust you to do this, Selena, and I know you won't trust me any other way.  After all," he said, smiling faintly, "the most dangerous part of people like us is our mind."_

_            "I can't," she said, shaking her head.  "I don't have the right."_

_            "I'm giving you the right."_

_            "I…I don't want to hurt you."_

_            "You won't."_

_            "How do you know?" she asked fiercely, blinking back tears._

_            "I don't know," he said.  "But I believe."_

_            It was her turn to pace.  He hadn't thought she would be antsy about this, but then again, there was a lot he didn't know about her._

_            "You're serious?" she said, giving him a sideways glance._

_            He nodded._

_            "And you won't be angry about it later?"_

_            He shook his head._

_            "You swear?"_

_            He let out an exasperated sigh and lunged forward to grab her by the wrists.  She let out a small cry as he pulled her off her feet and into the fragrant, dewy grass._

_            "Just do it.  It's only a one-time offer."_

_            Finally, after a few more tense moments, she allowed her eyes to drift up to his.  They were the same cool, clear blue as always, a bit glassy and bloodshot from exhaustion.  But for once they weren't filled with contempt or gloating; he was sedate, the moonlight giving his irises a deep, reflective quality that reminded her of the softly rippling __Caribbean__ seas._

_            "You promise you'll tell me if I'm going too far, or if I'm hurting you?" she asked.  It was really more of command than a question._

_            He shrugged one shoulder lazily.  She responded with a lethal glare._

_            "Fine, fine," he said.  "Don't get all worked up about it."_

_            "I'm not.  Give me your hands."_

_            He obliged, watching as her fingers twined with his.  Her hands were rather surprising; they were not small or delicate, and yet still distinctively female.  He'd never gotten a close look at them in spite of the fact that he was glued to her side during their Quidditch matches.  The game was just too fast for idle contemplation.  But yes, nice hands…strong, lithe, the kind of hands an artist might like to draw._

_            "What happened here?" he couldn't resist asking, poking her ring finger up with his own.  The appendage in question was a bit crooked and did not straighten as well as the others._

_            "Hm?" she said as her eyelids fluttered open.  He had not even noticed that she'd begun to concentrate.  "Oh.  Severus happened."_

_            "What do you mean?"_

_            "Petty childhood fight."_

_            "You two used to beat on each other?"_

_            "Don't all siblings?"_

_            "I wouldn't know.  I mean, I've got a brother, but he's a decade younger than me.  An accident, I think."_

_            "Oh?  I didn't think the Malfoys made mistakes," she jibed._

_            "I didn't think you'd be so weak as to let Severus beat you up," he returned immediately._

_            "Take my word when I say I came out on the better end of that fight," she smirked.  "I wound up with a dislocated finger, but he came out with a black eye and sore ribs."_

_            "Careful, you'll spoil his reputation."_

_            "Because he's after so many girls," she sniffed, rolling her eyes.  "Now shush.  We'll be out here all night if you don't let me concentrate."_

_            He quieted, settling himself into a comfortable position.  He had never been good at sitting still, especially not when he was waiting for something.  After a few moments, though, he focused on her steady breathing and willed himself to match it.  It had an incredible calming effect, and soon his entire body lost its anxious tension.  It barely registered in his mind that his head had drooped forward slightly and their foreheads were touching._

_            He did start, however, when he felt the first tentative probe slip into his mind._

_            "It might feel a bit odd.  Do you want me to stop?" she whispered, pulling back._

_            "No," he mumbled, willing himself to relax.  "I just wasn't expecting it.  Keep going."_

_            She stilled again, and after a minute the strange sensation returned.  It was like a tickle, the sort of feeling that could make a person smile and cringe at the same time.  He hoped it wouldn't be like this the whole time; his entire body wanted to squirm, to itch at the intruder in his brain._

_            He released a shaky breath a moment later, however, when her touch deepened from the fleeting tickle to a full-blown caress.  She was everywhere, touching, stroking, cajoling…he had to bite his lip to stifle a moan.  Gods, why did she even worry?  This felt…incredible._

_            When she withdrew a few minutes later, his hands tightened convulsively over hers and he fought a tide of dizziness.  He felt curiously empty now, empty and light and unattached._

_            "Don't know what you were worried about," he murmured, not even realizing that he was slumping against her.  "I feel like I've gotten into the illegal potions…"_

_            "That's exactly why I shouldn't have done it," she said, adjusting herself so she could support him.  "It messes with the normal brain's chemistry."_

_            "So?"_

_            "So it could really screw you up.  It's how the Dementors keep the prisoners in Azkaban in check.  It's also the reason so many of them wind up at St. Mungo's."_

_            "'m fine," he muttered._

_            "You should be.  I didn't stay very long."_

_            "Mmm."_

_            He lay still for a while, so still that she thought he might have fallen asleep.  Then, just as she was about to slowly extract herself from underneath him, he opened his eyes, made himself comfortable in her lap, and said,_

_            "Pop quiz time."_

_            She gave him an amused glance and replied,_

_            "Ask away."_

_            "What's my middle name?"_

_            "You don't have one."_

_            "What's my brother's name?"_

_            "Cassius."_

_            "My Mum?"_

_            "Helen."_

_            "When's my birthday?"_

_            "June 21."_

_            "My familiar?"_

_            "White cat, green eyes, named Apollo."_

_            "What's my wand made of?"_

_            "Willow with a core of dragon heartstring."_

_            "What do I want to be when I grow up?"_

_            "You have no idea."_

_            "How many girlfriends have I had?"_

_            "Three."_

_            "Names?"_

_            "Samantha Edgewood, Patrice Mendelsohn, and __Lorraine__ Vermillion."___

_            "Why did I break up with them?"_

_            "Samantha broke up with you but you won't admit it.  Patrice was too passive.  __Lorraine__ was only after your money."_

_            He was quiet for a moment, frowning slightly.  Then he spoke again as he began to toy with the end of her braid._

_            "How long have I liked you?"_

_            "Since the first time you saw me on the train," she answered softly._

_            "How sorry am I for acting like a prick?"_

_            "Not sorry at all," she snorted, giving him a gentle slap on the cheek.  He grinned and turned his head to nip at her retreating hand._

_            "Well, nobody's perfect," he shrugged after a comfortable pause, pulling himself into a sitting position and staring at her intently._

_            "Are you satisfied with your interrogation?" she demanded, crossing her arms in mock irritation._

_            "One more question." _

_            "Last one."_

_            "What do I want to do right now?"_

_            She sighed, genuine annoyance present in her mannerism now._

_            "I only looked into the past, not the future."_

_            "If I think it, will you be able to pick it up?"_

_            "Probably…"_

_            "Then focus," he said.  His brow knitted as he began to concentrate on what he wished to convey to her.  She was momentarily overwhelmed by the vividness that was infused into the images he projected; she had forgotten that it would be much easier to pick up on his thoughts now that she'd taken a tour of his mind.  She backed off slightly, allowing the images to wash over her mind and permeate her senses._

_            He was really very good at sending his thoughts…the scene that played behind her eyelids was like something out of a risqué Muggle movie.  Wet bodies, limbs tangled, lips red and swollen from rough kisses…her nerves tingled as nimble fingers swept up her sides._

_            She severed the tie with his mind quickly, gasping as she returned to the warm, sticky night.  She couldn't stand any more of that; the desire in his thoughts was so strong that she had been unable to discern a real touch from a phantom touch._

_            He hadn't moved, but her skin still tingled in remembrance of his roaming hands.  His eyelids had dropped low over the __Caribbean__ tidepools and he stared at her intensely, his lips slightly parted._

_            If she had been lost before, she was completely adrift now.  That was not what she had expected from him.  She knew he had a lewd mind – what sixteen year old male didn't?  But that hadn't simply been a vulgar fantasy; it was ridiculously sensual, soft, and intimate.  It was worship…sincere appreciation of the body that was trusted to him.  She had to admit she had not thought him capable of such feeling; he seemed to be the type that would use a girl for his own personal enjoyment and then leave her behind like last year's Quidditch broom.  But that was not what she had seen._

_            Before she even understood what was happening, he had tackled her to the ground and slanted his lips over hers.  She froze for a moment, remembering the unpleasant circumstances of their first kiss.  But then his fingers slid lazily up her side, pushing the thin fabric of the tank top out of his way.  It had the same effect that blowing on smoldering coals did; all the questions were banished from her mind and she met his questing mouth eagerly._

_            He growled his approval, causing their tongues to vibrate against one another.  She bucked against him, digging her heel into the ground and using the leverage to flip them over.  He fought back, refusing to be dominated, and they tousled in the grass until they were breathless and had to separate.  His robes were twisted and her shirt had torn a few inches up the side seam._

_            "Wanna go for a swim?" he breathed from underneath her, lazily raising a hand to point at the lake over her shoulder._

_            "What about the squid?" she murmured, straightening his robes._

_            "It's a nice squid," he replied with a crooked smile.  She cocked a disapproving eyebrow at him._

_            "That thing's nocturnal."_

_            "We'll stay close to shore."_

_            "I swear, the second I feel a slimy tentacle wrap around me…"_

_            "I promise that I will be the only thing wrapped around you, Selena," he purred, sneaking a hand under her shirt.  She let him push it up and sweep it off her torso and then sat patiently as he cautiously touched her exposed flesh.  "I'm beginning to like this Muggle clothing," he murmured, gently cupping one of her breasts.  "It's easy to remove…"_

_            She smirked down at him and gently pushed his hands away._

_            "Am I swimming by myself?" she asked, lifting herself gracefully from her perch over his midsection.  She tried not to laugh as he scrambled to his feet behind her and attempted to run and strip at the same time._

_            She waded into the water and he was right behind her, catching her around the waist and trapping her against his body.  She play-fought his grip, enjoying the feeling of the cool water and his slick skin against her back.  She quickly stilled, however, as his hands began to roam both above and below the water.  Her head arched back to rest on his shoulder and he nibbled the soft skin of her neck.  She made a soft sound, turning her head to brush her lips over his and then whispered,_

_            "Lucius…too fast."_

_            "Mmm…sorry," he said, slowly returning his wayward hand to the surface.  He turned her around and licked at the little rivulets of water that dripped down her chest.  She wrapped her legs around his waist and they floated, exchanging soft kisses every now and then until the distinctive sound of hooves on earth caused them both to look towards the shore._

_            An impressive stag had stopped at the edge of the water.  It seemed to be staring at the naked couple, the moonlight reflecting in its eyes and causing them to glow eerily.  The large animal dipped its head to drink, but continued to observe them._

_            A moment later the silence was broken by the loud, staccato bark of a dog.  They could see a black blur against the grass, streaking towards the Whomping Willow.  It barked again as it went by, its eyes catching in the moonlight just as the stag's had.  The stag lifted its muzzle from the water and stared at them for a few more seconds before turning and bounding off._

_            Lucius and Selena watched the animals until they disappeared over a small hill.  It was then that he noticed that goosebumps had begun to form on her skin._

_            "Lucius," she said, her voice strangely distant.  "I want to go inside."_

So why was Lucius in the Forest?  The world may never know…  Sorry for the mush, but hey, that's the way it goes.


	10. Olive Branch

She hated the feeling of Lucius's serpent-tipped cane poking her in the small of her back as he 'escorted' her into the forbidding Ministry building.  It was a busy day and she could feel hundreds of people staring as the little entourage went by; no doubt he intended it to be that way to humiliate her.  People might not have known her face before, but they certainly would now.

Her foot slipped a bit on one of the cracked stone steps, and he shoved her forward in an extremely ungentlemanly manner.  At that point the pressure on her back was eased, and she twisted her neck slightly to see that Flitwick had grabbed him by the wrist.

"You better not leave a mark on her, Malfoy," the little man said in an oddly threatening tone.  "Your order was to arrest her, not rough her up."

Lucius snorted and yanked his arm away.  The familiar pinch of pain returned, and she was herded up the remainder of the stairs.

She wasn't really too worried now that Flitwick was with her.  She would have never thought her former head of house and Charms professor could be so commanding.  During school he had been the absent-minded, constantly smiling professor.  Every school had one; the one staff member that would let almost anything slide, would much rather attribute teenage foolery to hormones than to discipline or take points off, and would allow you to turn in your homework the next day if you 'forgot'.  Even the Slytherins couldn't find much to complain about.  

She should have known better, though.  One didn't work at Hogwarts for the fun of it; Albus Dumbledore chose his staff with excellence in mind.  Well, there were a few notable exceptions to that rule, especially in the Defense Against the Dark Arts and Divination areas, but the fact remained that most of the Hogwarts staff were at the top of their respective fields.

It was now clear that Charms had not been Filibus Flitwick's original area of expertise.  Nor was the pleasant, cheery exterior his true personality.  No, indeed, when Flitwick wanted to, he could be thoroughly annoying, obnoxious, and argumentative.  He was a lawyer through and through.  Lucius already looked rather frayed, and it had only been a two minute floo and a ten minute carriage ride.

"I would like to know the procedures that will be followed," Flitwick said sharply as they proceeded through the arching stone hallways.  "I will be present at any and all questioning sessions.  I also demand secure quarters for Ms. Snape."

She heard Lucius bite back a sigh before speaking, his voice just barely civil.

"There will be two questioning sessions, one with myself and one with Minister Fudge.  They will take place at eight o'clock tonight and nine o'clock tomorrow morning."

"And where will she stay?"

"The dungeons."

"She absolutely will not.  She is not a criminal, and I will not have her treated as such."

"That is for Minister Fudge to decide."

"There is a doctrine of justice, Mr. Malfoy, which states that no accused party is guilty until proven so.  You have not presented a single shred of evidence, and until you find something that can convict her – and mind you, no such thing exists – she will be treated as any other respectable witch or wizard.  And you will comply, or I will see that you are embroiled in a very nasty scandal regarding the rights of those you arrest."

Selena had to smother a smile.  Lawyer Flitwick certainly didn't mince any words.  He had just given Lucius quite a tongue lashing.  She had to admit she did very much enjoy someone besting Lucius in a verbal joust.

"It is not wise to threaten me, Flitwick," Lucius snarled.

"Ah yes, that mark on your arm.  Acting under the Imperius, were you?  Then I do not think it wise for you to threaten me with your renewed allegiance to the Dark Lord, especially not if you wish the former verdict to stand."

Ooh.  Score another point for Flitwick.  If the situation were not so grave, the tennis match of barely-veiled threats would have been quite entertaining.

"Talk it over with Fudge, then," Lucius growled.  "Here he is now."

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

_"Oh gods," Sirius moaned as his alarm beeped insistently.  "This is worse than a hangover."_

_"Turn it off," James moaned in an equally pathetic tone._

_"Sggffthhh," was all that could be heard from Peter's bed._

_The usual fourth voice was missing, as Remus was in the Infirmary recuperating from last night's transformation.  There had been nothing unusual about it save for the scent of two others besides themselves on the wind.  Idiots.  Of course Remus never intended to hurt anyone in his werewolf state, and if he ever did, he'd probably kill himself over the guilt; even so, it was not very intelligent to be sneaking out on a night where the full, silvery moon dominated the sky.  Common sense should dictate that, even if nobody knew that Hogwarts housed a werewolf._

_Sirius finally managed to silence the alarm.  He was very tempted to fall asleep again and just not go to class, but James had already dragged himself out of bed.  The Marauders did things as a team, and if one was up, they all were._

_"Jaaaames," Peter whined as the window shades were opened, spilling bright sunlight through the room._

_"The teachers will think something is up if none of us are in class," he said, running a hand through his unruly hair and staring out the window for a moment.  "And I promised Lily I'd help her with her essay, remember?"_

_"Bollocks," Sirius said, stumbling past him on a beeline for the loo._

_"Don't stay in there too long, Padfoot," James said, the end of the sentence obscured by a yawn.  The only response was garbled muttering around a toothbrush about 'bloody stupid girlfriends…'_

_"Come on, Peter," James said, nudging his friend's knee with an outstretched hand.  "We only have a half hour to get ready."  Peter just rolled over and pulled the blanket over his head.  James shrugged.  Let him go to class smelly._

_"So what the hell was the deal with those other people outside last night?" Sirius asked loudly over the sound of running water._

_James frowned.  He had been quite stunned to spot Selena Snape and Lucius Malfoy getting frisky in the lake.  Ridiculous place to do so, what with the squid and all.  And besides, he'd always been under the impression that she couldn't stand the arrogant Slytherin bastard.  But she had seemed quite happy as his hands did illicit things to her under the water.  Well, her brother was a Slytherin, after all.  Perhaps that upped her tolerance?  Regardless, he'd never witnessed a kind word exchanged between the two of them.  How could they possibly be lovers?_

_"I don't know," he replied.  "I only got a whiff."_

_"Oh yeah?__  They were over by the lake, though, and you were over there.  I would have thought maybe you'd seen them?"_

_"No such luck," James lied._

_"Well, whoever they are," Sirius said, emerging from the bathroom and toweling his hair dry, "let's hope they don't make a habit of sneaking out.  They might get a nasty surprise someday."_

_James frowned again, still facing the window.  He remembered Selena Snape's eyes as she and Malfoy watched him on the shore.  He had not entirely believed the rumors that she was psychic before, but he definitely did now.  Those eyes…she'd seen something other than a stag when she looked at him.  He had felt it all over his skin, even in his Animagus form.  What if she knew?  What if she figured out that they were Animagi?  Oh god…what if she realized that Remus was a werewolf?_

_"What are you thinking, James?" Sirius asked, pausing his dressing routine to stare at his friend's back._

_"Nothing.__  Just zoned out."  He felt terrible lying to Sirius, but the feeling in his gut was telling him that this was something his dark-haired friend should not know…if only to spare Remus the agony of Sirius telling him that his crush of almost three years was shagging someone they all avidly hated.  James didn't think he could soften the blow, but it would still be better than Sirius breaking the news.  Sirius had long ago reached the decision that Remus didn't really like Selena as much as he claimed to, due to his refusal to approach her or ask her out.  He would probably say something along the lines of 'You snooze, you lose, Moony.'  That was most definitely NOT what Remus needed to hear right after a transformation._

_"Peter!  Come on, buddy!" Sirius said, startling James out of his reverie.  He heard the telltale snap of a wet towel and heard Peter's yelp as it found his back._

_"That's going to leave a mark," he grinned, giving Sirius a light, brotherly shove on his way to the bathroom.  James ducked into the shower with a half-smile on his face, momentarily forgetting the depthless brown eyes of Selena Snape._

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

She had long ago made a vow to herself that she would never allow a man, especially not Lucius, to intimidate her.  It was hard to stick to that promise now, though, with him stalking around the dimly lit room like a tiger that hadn't been fed in a week.

"Why were you in possession of a Muggle vehicle?" he demanded loudly, his palms smacking down on the scarred wooden table.  She managed to conceal the start her body gave at the sudden noise.

"I live and work in the Muggle world," she replied, meeting his eyes with forced ease.  "I can't exactly floo or apparate to get around."

"How did you procure this 'car'?"

"I bought it."

"With Muggle money?"

"Yes."

"What do you do in the Muggle world that enables you to afford such an expensive vehicle?"

"I'm a bartender."

"A bartender."

"Yes."

"The last time I checked, bartending produced a rather meager paycheck.  Perhaps you do something else on the side, such as sell your affections to lonely Muggle men?" he said with a sneer.  

She felt Flitwick tense beside her and raised a hand to stop whatever he was about to say.

"I do nothing of the sort.  I am a bartender, a rather famous one.  But naturally you wouldn't be familiar with the work of Galina Dmitrov, since you are so above the world of Muggles."

Lucius's eyes narrowed, but he knew when he was beaten.

"Why do you live in the Muggle world?  What do you have against the wizarding world?"

"Don't put words in her mouth, Lucius," Flitwick said, meeting the fair man's burning glare with one of his own.  "Her choice of residence doesn't necessarily have anything to do with her opinions about the Muggle or wizarding world."

"Filibus is right.  I have nothing against the wizarding world.  It is family obligation that keeps me in the Muggle world.  You see," she said, tilting her head slightly, "my mother's relatives lost one of their main sources of income when my Mother, Father, and little brother were killed."  She left off the 'by Death Eaters' part; she knew that he already knew that.  "My mother didn't work, but Father was well off and gave her a certain amount of money per week to use.  She never spent it on herself; a small part of it was always given to me and my siblings, and the rest was sent to my mother's family in Russia."

"So you felt it necessary to become the breadwinner in your mother's stead?"

"Her family had never liked her marrying a wizard and being taken away from them, but they let her go because she loved him.  They blamed the wizarding world for her death, and rightly so.  There was no one left but me to make it up to them.  And besides that, someone had to pay Severus's tuition."

"Why not him?"

Her expression darkened.

"Severus had a future in the wizarding world.  I did not."

"And why is that?"

"Because I am quite sure that the Death Eaters wished me dead, as well.  There was no reason to stay and seal my death sentence.  So Selena Snape disappeared and Galina Dmitrov went home."

Lucius resumed his pacing, but he was quiet.  She had just told him a lot of things that he'd never known.  Selena was equally sedate; it was not easy for her to remember the terrible events of so many years ago.

Flitwick, for his part, was becoming annoyed.  It was clearer now than ever that there was no basis for this arrest and trial at all.  Anytime Lucius and Selena were together, the air was thick with unresolved issues.  This was all a charade the younger man had designed in order to exact some kind of revenge.  The worst part was that the Ministry was now so crippled and incompetent that it was allowed to go on.

But he held his tongue; he had always found Selena to be incredibly bright and more than capable of defending herself.  If she needed his help, she'd ask.  Still, he wished that he knew exactly what it was that had ended her relationship with Lucius.  She had come to him those many years ago, her eyes puffy from crying, but it had only been to ask him if she could have an extension on an essay.  He had asked her if she was all right, to which she replied that she was.  Then he asked her why she needed the extension.  Her answer had simply been that she'd had a nasty falling out with Lucius and wouldn't be able to concentrate to finish it tonight.  Having heard rumors flying about the faculty room about the possibility of marriage for the odd couple after graduation, he immediately consented to the extension.  He had tried to get her to sit down and talk to him, but she said it was still too fresh and painful to go over again.

He had figured, back then, that they would resolve everything in a few days, have some make-up sex (yes, he'd come across them more than once during bedchecks, but always left them alone – there was one relationship that not even Minerva would have broken up, gossip-monger that she was…she wanted more than anyone for the highly unconventional Slytherin/Ravenclaw match to work), and return to normal.  But it hadn't happened that way.  From that day forward, it was officially O-V-E-R, over.

And apparently, there hadn't been any conversation after that.  They were both seethingly angry at each other, even with close to twenty years to cool off.  He tried to think of anything, anything at all that might be a clue.  All he could remember was that Severus and Sirius Black had gotten into a scuffle around that same time.  And two months later, after the winter holidays, only one of the Snape twins came back.

"That will be all," Lucius said suddenly, picking up his cane from where it rested against the table.  "Minister Fudge will conclude your questioning tomorrow morning."

She nodded, keeping her chin up until he'd swept from the room.  Then she slumped in the chair, rubbing her temples with shaking fingers.  A moment later she felt Flitwick squeeze her shoulder reassuringly, and she gave him a small smile.

"It will be easier with Fudge," he said, returning the smile.

"Thank you, Filibus."

"Of course."

He offered her his arm, and she took it, allowing him to lead her through the darkened corridors to her room.  She supposed they were a comically mismatched pair; he was short and round, and she was tall and linear.  He stopped to give instructions to the two guards that were to stand at her door, and then saw her in.

"Selena?" he said as she stepped inside.

"Yes?"

"What happened between you and Lucius?"

She looked down at the floor, her hand nervously clenching the doorknob.  Then she sighed, raising her eyes to the ceiling.

"I don't even know, Filibus.  I don't even know."

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

"So he's a lawyer," Hermione said.

"Yes, that is the Muggle term for it," Dumbledore agreed, nodding and folding his hands.  

"So then how did he wind up here?" Harry asked.

"Well, it is a long story, but I'll try to make it as short as possible.  Believe it or not, Filibus didn't attend Hogwarts.  He actually went to Beauxbatons, where, not surprisingly, Charms was his best subject.  I don't know exactly how he became a spokesperson, or lawyer as you say, because I didn't know him then.  He started with the usual trifling cases and worked his way up, and by the time You Know Who had come to power, he had quite a reputation.  I'm sure the Death Eaters would have left him alone – he is a pureblood, and very shrewd in a way they would appreciate, and nothing he did really concerned them.  Until, of course, he received an invitation for an audience with the Dark Lord.  The Death Eaters wanted him.  He promptly refused, and sent them a rather scathing letter from what I hear."

Three pairs of eyes widened.

"Is he _nuts_?" Ron said, shaking his head.  "That's like _asking_ the Death Eaters to go after his family!"

Dumbledore smiled sadly.

"That's the thing about him," the old wizard said.  "He refused to be intimidated by the war.  He certainly doesn't seem the type, but there's more courage in him than fifty Gryffindors."

"So what happened?" Harry urged, even though he already had an idea of how it had turned out.  One didn't cross the Death Eaters and come out unscathed.

"Well, he was hailed as a hero of sorts; not many people had the courage to stand up to the Dark Lord and his servants so blatantly.  He spoke out against them, even took some cases of grievance against recognizable Death Eaters.  He gave the wizarding community hope in a dismal time.  Unfortunately, as is the fate of so many that stand up against oppression, things did turn out badly for him.  His home was raided.  His wife and two daughters were killed.  He nearly lost his life, as well, but Poppy was able to save him.  I will be honest; I did not expect Filibus to live through that.  She brought him back through sheer willpower, I think." 

"That's awful," Hermione whispered.

"Yes, but such were the times.  I brought him here, because he needed protection and constant care for the first few weeks.  And six weeks later Noventa Scaramanga, the former head of Ravenclaw, was murdered by the Death Eaters.  Noventa was my spy before Severus.  Filibus had nowhere to go, so I asked him if he wanted the job.  The only problem was that he was not terribly talented with potions – that's what Noventa taught, you know.  Potions Masters," Dumbledore sighed, with a slight shake of his head.  "Haven't met a well-adjusted one yet.  Perhaps it's the fumes…But anyway, I wasn't about to turn him out because of that.  Back then Charms was taught in compound with Defense Against the Dark Arts.  I simply declared that Charms was a new subject and that the new head of Ravenclaw would be teaching it.  I took over potions myself until a suitable replacement could be found, and that was that."

"Was Scaramanga very much like Professor Snape?" Hermione could not stop herself from asking.

"Not at all.  Quite the opposite, actually.  He detested the Slytherins, took points off them whenever he could.  Very patient in his classes, as well.  But please realize, you three, that much of Severus's personality as a teacher is an act.  There is a lot of kindness in him, but it is veiled.  I would not hesitate to say that he would give his life for any of you."

Harry snorted.  Hermione elbowed him.

"Believe me, Mr. Potter, it is difficult to make our dear Potions professor hate.  He may…dislike quite abundantly, but he stays objective when it comes to the endangerment of anyone in this school."

"Flitwick isn't at all like you described him now," Ron said, trying to steer them away from discussion of his least favorite person.

"The loss of his wife and children took a lot out of him.  I think Hogwarts has done him good, though.  It did not take him long to realize that all the students were his children.  He does his best to be the doting father figure.  Not even the Slytherins can find much to complain about.  And, believe it or not, the first thing he did when You Know Who was defeated was go back to the courtroom.  He is the reason so many Death Eaters now make their homes in Azkaban."

There was a brief silence as they absorbed this, and then Hermione spoke again.

"Headmaster," she said solemnly, "why isn't Lucius Malfoy in Azkaban?"

Dumbledore looked taken aback for a moment.  Obviously he hadn't expected such a straightforward and prying question.

"There were…extenuating circumstances," the old wizard answered.

"Like what?" she pressed.

"It is a very long story, Miss Granger.  What I will say is that there was no proof that he _wasn't_ acting under the Imperius."

"But no proof that he was?"

"Mr. Malfoy was not right in the head at the time.  If you would like more details, Miss Granger, perhaps you would like to ask Lucius yourself?" he said, raising an eyebrow in warning.

Her cheeks colored a bit, and she slouched back in her chair, properly chastised.

"Now," Dumbledore continued a moment later, "I have the utmost faith in Filibus.  There is no evidence at all to convict Selena, and he will be sure that the Ministry understands that.  Lucius will probably try to drag out the trial as long as he can, but I don't think he can hold them there for more than a week."

"But what about when they're not in court?" Harry asked, his brow furrowing with concern.  "What if he tries to do something?"

"Selena is far from helpless.  Those with psychic abilities can cause a great deal of damage when forced to turn those abilities on an attacker."

"Like what?" Ron asked.

"Someone once tried to attack her best friend in Hogsmeade.  He was in a coma for three weeks.  She could have killed him with a thought.  Anyone who knows that she is psychic should have the sense to realize that if she wished to end a life, she would not need the Killing Curse."

"We know she once went out with Malfoy," Harry said impulsively.  He couldn't help but feel that pieces of the story were still missing, and he was determined to find them.  "Why is he after her now?"

"I am sure that he has always wanted to do something of this nature," the old wizard said, inclining his head slightly.  "But Severus was always in the way.  Now, what with Karkaroff mucking about…Severus is trapped.  He can't do anything."

"But I still don't understand why.  If he was that hurt or angry over the breakup, it meant that he really loved her.  And if he really loved her, then why would he want to hurt her?" Harry pressed.

"He thinks that she cheated on him," a smooth, mellow voice said, filling the room with its crisp cadence.  They all recognized the voice, but turned towards the Potions Master anyway.

"You never told me that, Severus," Dumbledore said, regarding the dark man in his doorway.

"In the scope of things, it didn't seem important.  Besides, it's not true.  She didn't cheat on him.  Not willingly, anyway."

"Do you mean to say…?"

"We will discuss it later.  There's something you need to understand about Lucius," he said, turning his beady gaze on Harry and his companions.  "Malfoy love is twisted love.  He would rather slice her throat then let another man lay a finger on her."

"But it's all right for him to go off with some other woman afterwards," Hermione sniffed disdainfully.

"Amazing how quickly you grasp the logic of a madman, Miss Granger," Snape said dryly. 

"So he doesn't care for that Narcissa woman at all," she continued, faintly amazed that Snape was relating these things to them as well as Dumbledore.

"I don't know.  Two bitter people rolling in money with no concept of reality," he said dryly, scowling.  "They're made for each other."

"Severus," Dumbledore said, now looking gravely concerned.  "Why didn't she ever come to me?  And even if she wouldn't, why didn't you?"

"She made me swear not to say anything."

"Brotherly loyalty or not, Severus, a possible rape is something that should be brought to my attention."

The three students were surprised to see Snape wince at the Headmaster's choice of words.

"That is not the word she assigns to it," he said softly, frowning.  

"It doesn't matter.  Just because her recollection isn't clear doesn't mean she wasn't hurt in such a manner.  They could have used something on her, a charm or a potion," the Headmaster said.  "And then they probably altered her memory."

"I'm sure," the other man nodded. 

"Why are you letting us hear all this, anyway?" Hermione asked suddenly, unable to contain her curiosity.

"There are not many people who have the courage to support my sister right now.  She took a liking to you three, Merlin only knows why," he muttered, rolling his eyes.  "But I know you dullard Gryffindors won't waver in your belief and support of her innocence.  Consider this the temporary olive branch."

"Olive branch?" Ron said thickly.  Hermione let out an exasperated sigh, both at Snape's veiled insult and Ron's stupidity, and even Harry ran a hand through his hair in annoyance.  Snape looked very much like he was trying incredibly hard to resist pulling out his wand and hexing Ron into oblivion.

"Offering of peace, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said with a chuckle, knowing how hard it must have been for Severus to say such a thing out loud.  Ron's eyes went wide and he looked warily at Snape.

"I can see you won't trust me until you see me dead in my coffin," Snape drawled, giving Ron a devastating glare.

"That's not t-true," Ron stammered, lifting his chin.  "I like Selena and…and if she can deal with you, then…then I can, too!" he declared.

Snape looked faintly amused, and then turned his glance on Harry.

"What about you, Potter?"

"Same," Harry said somewhat coldly.

"And Miss Granger?"

"Contrary to what you might think, I never had an aversion to you, and I like your sister very much.  Although you could stand to be a little nicer to Neville…just because he hasn't got a clue about potions…" 

"None of us has to worry about the Dark Lord with that boy in class," Snape said darkly, narrowing his eyes.  "Do you realize how many times he's nearly killed us all?"

"Then why don't you just let him drop the class?" Hermione asked, the challenge clear in her tone.  Harry and Ron were staring at her in amazement.

"That is out of my hands.  I would quite willingly strip naked and dance on the staff table during the Yule Ball if that horrid specimen of wizard was removed from my class.  Hell, I'd kiss Minerva McGonagall."

Hermione could not stifle a giggle.  She heard Dumbledore chuckle as well.  Harry and Ron looked horrified, which only made her laugh more.  She was highly amused that he considered dancing naked in front of the whole school a lesser punishment than kissing the head of Gryffindor.

"What Severus means to say, Hermione, is that Potions is a requirement for all seven years at Hogwarts.  One cannot graduate without it.  So even though Mr. Longbottom is a bit…calamitous-" Snape snorted loudly at this "-he cannot graduate without Potions."

"But if he's really that dangerous…"

"Don't you trust your Professor?" Dumbledore asked, looking over his spectacles.  Hermione gave Snape a sidelong glance.  He was scowling, his eyes firmly fixed on the window behind Dumbledore's head.  Perhaps she did not trust Severus Snape as a man or an ally, but there was no better Potions Master in the whole of the Eastern Hemisphere.

She nodded thoughtfully, finally understanding why Snape was so cranky during her classes.  Those classes were the only time she saw him, and she had always assumed that he was like that all the time.  Only now did she realize that he was not really as much of a prat as he seemed.

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *           

The questioning session with Fudge had indeed been a great deal easier than the one with Lucius.  She still had that cold feeling in the pit of her stomach, though.  He hadn't said anything, but he'd been there.  And he'd stared.  Stared like he used to in class when they were together, doing unspeakably naughty things to her in his imagination.  She always knew when he was thinking about her that way.  It used to excite her, and he knew it.

The disconcerting part was that when she felt his eyes traveling over her figure, her body responded with that same old surge of endorphins.  She should have hated him, it should have made her sick when she realized what he was doing…but it didn't.  It made her ache.

Some actor that looked oddly like her brother had said it in a Muggle movie once: as far as the senses are concerned, some people just feel like home.  Lucius had always tasted, smelled, and felt like home.  And since it had fallen apart, she'd never quite found that feeling with any other man.  

She asked Flitwick if she could have a few moments to herself after the questioning, to which he agreed as long as she was careful and went directly to her chambers.  She said she would and pushed her way out of the small, stuffy room.  The trial was to begin tomorrow morning at ten; she needed to prepare herself mentally for whatever Lucius was going to throw at her.

She took a somewhat roundabout route back to her quarters, walking slowly and allowing herself to become lost in thought.  No one obstructed her as she meandered; it was the weekend, after all, and much of the Ministry was at home enjoying some extra sleep.

Naturally, it was quite a shock when she looked up to remove the wards from her door and Lucius was blocking her path.

"Lu--!" she managed before his raised his hand and pointed his wand.

"_Silencio__!_"

She moved her lips, but there was no sound.  A silencing spell.  She glared at him as if to say 'What the hell do you want?', concealing her fear with anger.

"Can't have anyone hearing you scream, now can we?" he said softly, advancing on her.

She continued to glare, lifting her chin in defiance.  She couldn't back away; she was already against the wall.  And of course she didn't have her wand.  The Ministry had confiscated it for evidence.  

He was a foot away, staring at her in that way again.  She shook her head emphatically, telling him via body language that he better not try anything.  But she knew he wouldn't listen, and sure enough, a moment later he'd lunged forward and trapped her body against the wall with his.

She couldn't scream, but she struggled.  There was no way he was going to get what he wanted easily.  But he was stronger – always had been, physically anyway.  His forearm suddenly crushed down over her throat, blocking her airway.  Her struggles diminished as she gasped for air.  She began to see black blotches as her lungs burned and screamed for oxygen.  Selena made one last attempt to pry his arm away, glad that she was at least drawing blood with her nails.  She heard him growl in the distance as everything became foggier and foggier.

Just when she thought he had killed her, the pressure was eased.  Instinctively, her body drew in as much oxygen as it could.  She could only lean limply against him, desperately trying to sate her pleading lungs and cloudy mind.

"That's a good girl," he murmured.  It took her a few more moments to become even minimally aware again, at which point she realized what he was doing.

Her robes were unbuttoned and he'd pulled one of her legs to rest over his hip, pushing up her skirt in the process.  Neither of her feet were on the ground.  He had her pinned against the wall, supporting her with his own weight.

She tried to push him away, but it was to no avail.  She wanted to scream as she felt his cool hand sliding up the inside of her thigh.

_"Lucius, NO!"_

The sharp thought careened through his brain like quicksilver.  He jumped and drew back a centimeter.  He had forgotten what it felt like to have her in his head.  He could silence her mouth, but not her brain.  Lucius scowled.  It would not deter him.

His hand plunged on, and he felt her tense.  A moment later, he laughed.

"You're wet.  I knew it." 

He supposed, in hindsight, that he should have paid more attention to the irate expression on her face.  Seconds later he was on his knees, clenching the sides of his head.  Pain crackled through his mind like a thousand red fireworks.  It felt like a mental Cruciatus.

It didn't let up until she'd snatched his wand, ended the silencing spell, disabled the wards, and closed the door.  He felt the wand hit him in the cheek and heard it clatter to the floor a second before the telltale rush of air and loud crash of a door slamming.

Then it was all over.  He slumped in the corridor, cradling his throbbing head in both hands.  It was like the hangover from hell.

He didn't move until he heard footsteps echoing off the high stone ceiling.  At that point he dragged himself to his feet, shutting his eyes as the world tipped and whirled crazily.  He forced himself to walk and hoped no one would spot him; he was staggering badly, considering how every now and then the hallway would lurch and upend itself, causing intense vertigo and nausea.  Being seen like this would do wonders for his reputation – Lucius Malfoy, drunkard and influential Ministry member.  No, must avoid people.  All he had to do was make it to a fireplace so he could floo back to the Manor, at which point he could be thoroughly sick, be pampered by Narcissa, and spend the rest of the day thinking of ways to get even with Selena.

A/N – Can anyone tell me where I've heard the name Scaramanga before?  Oh, and the actor I was referring to is John Cusack in High Fidelity.


	11. Impulse

_The end of sixth year:_

_Lucius was asleep with his cheek resting on her thigh.  Severus was across from them, equally unconscious in what looked like a rather uncomfortable position.  She thought about waking him up to spare him the neck pain, but if she moved she would probably wake Lucius.  Plus she knew that Severus could never get back to sleep after waking up, and he'd be pissed that she interrupted his nap.  He was not a napper in general, so if he fell asleep during the day, he was definitely exhausted._

_The truth was that the whole school was exhausted.  Of course exams were always draining, and the heat wave that refused to break for the entirety of the last two weeks of school had taken a lot out of everyone.  But it was the actions of the Dark Wizard that had sapped the spirit from the Hogwarts constituent._

_The unfortunate lot of having flying lessons at the crack of dawn was reserved for the first years, and she was thankful for that.  If she had seen the bodies hanging from the Quidditch hoops, she might never have been able to set foot on the pitch again.  Six bodies in total, three men, three women.  All tortured and left to bleed to death as they hung from the hoops by their wrists.  She had heard that two of them were the Muggle parents of a fifth-year Hufflepuff boy._

_Of course the sheer brutality and showmanship of the murders had shocked the entire country and probably the whole continent.  But that wasn't what scared her.  Hogwarts was protected by very, very strong wards and spells.  There was no way the Dark Wizard and his supporters could have gotten onto the Quidditch field…unless they had someone on the inside.  Someone within Hogwarts who had let them in.  Anyone on the train could be a Death Eater._

_She shuddered.  The movement woke Lucius from his light sleep, and he reached up to touch her cheek gently._

_"Cold?" he asked._

_She shook her head, looking out the window to prevent him from seeing the fear in her eyes._

_"Afraid?"_

_Busted.___

_"A bit," she admitted, worrying a strand of his hair between her fingers.  "We're so helpless.  We don't even know who our enemies are."_

_"We're not in any danger," he said softly, his brow furrowing.  "We're purebloods.  The Death Eaters only target those who aren't."_

_She was quiet, staring out the window with an unreadable expression on her face.  A moment later she favored him with a distant smile and said,_

_"Yes, of course."_

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

She didn't even know why she was crying.  Well, of course there was fear.  And anger, and shame.  She had tried to deny all the emotions that surged within her, but it was impossible.  They'd been building for so long already, and Lucius's actions had served as a catalyst.  Luckily Flitwick hadn't returned to check on her, so she'd have a chance to compose herself and pretend that nothing had happened.

But now was not that time.  She couldn't stop crying.  It wasn't sobbing; just a constant flow of hot, silent tears.  Each time she thought she'd calmed down and it would be all right, a fresh swelling of raw shame, sorrow, and frustration caused her eyes to overflow with tears once again.

Eventually she gave up trying to control her weeping and just let the salty jewels fall.  Lucius.  Fucking bastard.  Kill him.

No, that wouldn't do.  She didn't even know where the thought had come from.  Merlin knew he'd destroyed just about everything that had ever meant anything to her, and now he was working on the only things she had left.  Two things.  

Severus and her own sanity.

But she didn't fight with Malfoy tactics.  Her mother had once told her after a particularly venomous skirmish with Severus that she should never desire revenge.  _An eye for an eye and the whole world goes blind*_, she'd said.  And Selena had not come upon a greater piece of wisdom in all the years since.

She'd always known that Lucius was a bit out of his mind.  She'd seen it on the train as a first year, cursed it as a third year, embraced it as a fifth…and fallen victim to it in the seventh.

And now, so many years later, it was going to consume her.  She was trapped.  All thoughts of revenge were dashed.  If she tried to move any other way than how Lucius wanted her to, Severus would meet that grisly end that so often wrenched her screaming from her sleep.

With a shaking hand, she took a piece of parchment and smoothed it out in front of her.  A few moments went by before she felt composed enough to begin writing.

_Dear Cass, _she began in sloping, elegant Russian.  _I won't be coming home.  The past has caught up with me.  Please watch over Aunt Irina and the bar.  If anyone asks where I am, just tell them the police found my body._

Her hand began to shake again.  She turned her head so that her tears would not fall on the parchment and blur the ink.  Writing this kind of letter was like stabbing yourself in the heart.

_I love you, Cass,_ she wrote, unable to keep the letters from becoming a bit jerky and disjointed.  _I always will, no matter how cruel circumstances become.  Please don't come after me.  You don't deserve any of this._

She sighed and folded the parchment.  She didn't need to sign it…he wouldn't be receiving this kind of correspondence from anyone else.  Selena stood and went over to the window, pushing it open the mere four or five inches it allowed.  Flitwick's pygmy owl, a brown and white bundle of feathers affectionately dubbed Astrid, chirped softly at her and stuck its leg out.  She placed the parchment in its beak, and it trilled at her in agitation.

"Just bring it down to Apollo," she said, stroking the owl's head.  "The white cat down there.  He won't hurt you, I promise."  

Astrid puffed out her feathers in response, obviously put off by the idea of being anywhere near a cat.  Once again, she stuck her leg out.

"Please?" Selena asked, holding out a half-eaten piece of roll that she'd neglected from last night's dinner.  "For a nibble?"

The owl dropped the letter back into her hand and took the roll.  When it was finished, it picked up the letter once again and hopped from foot to foot.

"Thank you," she said, giving the little bird another gentle pet.  She watched as Astrid dove and a streak of white appeared beneath the window.  Apollo looked up at his Mistress.  The cat's eyes flashed in the floodlights that surrounded the Ministry grounds.  She watched as Astrid and Apollo warily exchanged the letter and smiled as the cat tucked it into the small pouch on its hind leg.

"_Disvydanya_," she murmured, watching the snow-white feline streak away across the vast green lawn.

By all means Apollo should have been dead a long time ago.  He'd been old even when Lucius had kept him as his familiar.  But the white cat had fallen prey to Lucius and Severus' boredom one day; Severus had snitched some potions from Madame Pomfrey's store and they decided to test them on Apollo.  Apparently Vital Freeze Potion, a potion designed to sustain a patient when more time was required to have any chance of saving his or her life, had a very different effect on cats.  Apollo had not aged at all since they'd slipped the potion into his water.  For all she knew, he might live forever.

She left another treat on the windowsill for Astrid and then sank heavily into the unfamiliar bed.  She could only hope that Cass would respect her wishes and not get himself entangled in a world that had long since forgotten that he'd ever existed.

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

_That same summer, at Malfoy Manor:_

_A purr sounded from her throat as slightly roughened fingertips played up her spine.  She was barely awake, wrapped in cool satin sheets that smelled of jasmine and sex.  The bed shifted and she slid a little to the right, her side coming into contact with Lucius's thigh.  Her sleeping surface equalized a moment later and she felt him hovering over her.  His hand came down to cup her buttocks, the warmth of his skin seeping through the sheet._

_"Mmm," was all she said as she wiggled her hips slightly._

_"Wake up," he murmured, leaning down so his chest pressed into her back.  She felt him nose her braid aside and begin to nibble and suck her ear._

_"Too early," she replied, reaching around for a handful of his hair._

_"It's after eleven."_

_"Still too early."___

_"It's never too early…"_

_His tongue began to carve a path down her back, and she shivered as his breath swept over the moist flesh._

_"It's a nice day," he said after a moment, pausing his ministrations.  "We should be outside."_

_She twisted so she could look up at him._

_"I don't want bugs crawling all over me.  And the grass is prickly.  But you know what we could do?"_

_"What?"_

_"We could open all the windows and take off the cooling spell and then it would feel like we were outside."_

_His eyebrows went up, and she knew he liked the idea._

_"I suppose that's an acceptable compromise."_

_A few minutes later, every window was gaping, the sheer curtains billowing in the slight breeze.  Light flooded in, and the white decorating scheme made it seem like they were in a bedroom sitting upon a cloud._

_Lucius stood by one of the windows, staring out with his arms loosely crossed._

_"What would your Mum say if she knew I was here?" Selena asked, her eyes traveling over Lucius's lean figure.  He turned and raised an eyebrow at her._

_"What would YOUR Mum say?"_

_"My Mum knows I'm here," she replied with a devilish smile._

_"But I'm sure she doesn't think her baby girl is wantonly ravishing her boyfriend three times a day.  I'm sure she thinks it's just a harmless visit."_

_"No harm done as long as we're safe," Selena shrugged, smiling._

_"What if Severus squeals on you?"_

_"He won't."_

_"How do you know?"_

_"Remember that girl he was hanging around with?"_

_"The one he met at the library."_

_"Yes."_

_"What about her?"_

_"Turns out she lives near us.__  I think they've been doing more than analyzing the classics of the wizarding world, if you know what I mean," Selena said, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.  Lucius chuckled, shaking his head slightly._

_"I still can't figure out why you weren't put in Slytherin," he said, turning to look at her.  "You certainly act like one."_

_"Having a twin – or any sibling, really - is like existing in a perpetual state of mutual blackmail," she said, shrugging.  "As long as neither of us ever gets a leg up on the other, there's peace."_

_"Guess I have my work cut out for me when Cassius gets older."_

_"Definitely, if he's anything like you."___

_There was a comfortable silence, and Selena closed her eyes and savored the feel of the summer breeze as it tickled her bare skin.  Then the bed shifted again as Lucius climbed in beside her, draping half of his body over hers.  They lay there serenely, and after a few minutes she turned her head so she could look at him.  His eyes were closed, but she could tell he was still awake._

_"You wake me up and then fall asleep," she said softly, leaning forward to nuzzle him._

_"It's comfortable," he murmured, staying perfectly still._

_She nodded, twirling a piece of hair that rested over his shoulder._

_"Almost like a honeymoon."_

_His eyes opened at that.  She looked into them, smiling at how riotously blue they were.  Two shades of blue, really.  Pale blue on the inside, like the sky on a winter morning, and then a slightly darker hue around the edges._

_"Almost," he said, moving to place a kiss at the corner of her mouth._

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

Hermione was exhausted.  It had been a long night and an even longer day.  Her head was buzzing from the most difficult Arithmancy class she'd had to date, and she'd nearly passed out from boredom during Binns's lecture.  Harry had had to nudge her several times to keep her from falling asleep on her book.  But at last she was done with classes for the day, and didn't have too much to study for tomorrow.

That was what had set her on her current path down to the dungeons.  She was still amazed that she'd managed to talk to Snape almost conversationally last night.  Now was the time to test the boundaries of the newfound alliance to see if it also existed during school hours or just in the long, dark silence of night.

Just when she thought she might make it to her destination without any problems, Draco Malfoy stepped into her path.

"You're a long way from your Common Room, Granger," he sneered, crossing his arms over his chest.

"So I am," she said, stepping around him.  "Oh, by the way, how's the nose?" 

"Snigger all you want, mudblood," he spat.  "The Death Eaters will break a lot more than your nose when they come after you."

She stopped and turned slowly, measuring him up with a glare of her own.

"Is that a threat, Malfoy?" 

"Just a friendly warning," he said with a devious grin.  She was about to give a snappy reply when another voice interrupted them.

"Consider this your friendly warning to get the hell out of my dungeons, Draco," Snape's cold voice echoed down the hallway.

Draco's expression faltered.  Snape had given no indication that his fury over yesterday's comment had waned; perhaps it was best that he did what his head of House told him.

"Don't forget, Granger," he hissed, and then turned and stalked away, his shoulders hunched with anger.

She was still glaring at his retreating figure when her mind registered Snape's presence behind her.

"I trust you have a good reason to be down here," he said severely, eyeing her critically for a moment and then turning in a sweep of black robes.

Hermione frowned, nervousness settling in the pit of her stomach.  Half of it was Draco's barely disguised threat, and the other half was Snape.  Snape was always intimidating, whether he was on your side or not.  It was just his mannerisms – the man oozed disdain and unapproachability.

She steeled her nerves and then followed the path he'd taken back into his office.  He hadn't made it clear if he wanted her to go after him or not, but then again, he hadn't told her to go back to Gryffindor tower.  That was most definitely an improvement over past conditions.

Hermione stepped into his office hesitantly, her eyes darting around to try to take in as much as she could of the somewhat large room.  It was stone and rather plain, containing only the Potions Master's desk, a small bookshelf, and a wide, floor-to-ceiling case with vial after vial of unidentifiable potions.  He was at his desk with a stack of papers in front of him, but his quill was still in its well and he hadn't noticed her intrusion.  He was staring into space, frowning as she'd seen him frown when he had some dilemma to solve.

She ventured further into the room, clearing her throat softly.  His head whipped around and he tensed visibly, and she thought that it might not have been the best idea to catch him off guard.  A scowl broke out on his face when he saw who it was, but his posture relaxed and after a moment he schooled his features into an indifferent look.

"Miss Granger," he drawled, his eyes narrowing slightly.  "I should have known you'd follow."

"Yes, well…" she said, her hands twining together nervously.  _Oh come on, Hermione, where's your Gryffindor courage that he's always picking on you for?  Spit it out!  _"I…was wondering if you'd heard anything about Selena," she said finally, looking up to gauge his reaction.

His brows furrowed ever so slightly.  He was silent, staring at her in the most unnerving way she'd ever experienced.  It was actually kind of frightening, having those sharp black eyes sizing her up in one long glance.  Not because she thought he might harm her in any way.  It was mostly because he might never see someone he considered worthy of his time, much less his confidence.  She hated the feeling of having a teacher disapprove of her, and honestly she could think of no way to change his mind should he decide that she was unworthy.

"Her trial started at ten this morning," he said slowly, standing and coming around his desk.  "But we've heard nothing since.  It must still be in session."

"But it's four in the afternoon.  There should have been a recess, and Flitwick would have owled…"

"I know."

She was mildly shocked by the tone of his voice.  It was soft and frustrated, filled to the brim with emotion.  Very distinctly un-Snapelike.

"Do you think –" she began, but stopped abruptly when the unmistakable sound of a floo connection echoed in the small room.  Before she even knew what was happening, Snape's hands clamped around her wrists and he practically threw her on the floor behind his desk.

"_Don't move!_" he hissed, his face an inch from hers.  His eyes bore into hers and flashed dangerously, and she nodded, her eyes as wide as saucers.

"Severus?  Are you there?" a rough and slightly accented voice asked conversationally.

"I'm here," Snape said tightly as he stood and faced the fireplace.

"Vhatever vere you doing on the floor?" the familiar voice asked.

"Spilled some ink.  What do you want, Igor?" Snape asked, his voice icy and impassive.

"I can see that it varms your heart to see me alive and vell."

"Naturally."

Hermione thought to herself as she listened that Snape's voice dripped so much sarcasm that she probably could have collected it in a bottle and labeled it "Derision."

"How are things, Severus?"

"Don't patronize me, Karkaroff.  What do you want?"

"Just to say hello, my dear friend.  Oh, and to inquire after the health of yourself and your sister."

Hermione stiffened at the mention of Selena.  She was sure that Snape reacted in a very similar manner.  His voice was pure venom when he spoke again.

"If you have a point to make, make it, Karkaroff.  Otherwise get the fuck out of my fireplace."

Karkaroff laughed heartily, the sound echoing off the stone walls.

"Tread carefully, Severus," the fugitive Death Eater said.

"Bastard," Snape muttered under his breath.

Hermione heard the scuff of boots on the stone floor, and Karkaroff gasped.  There was a loud pop, and then total silence.

She didn't dare move.  Instinctively she knew what Snape had done; he'd jumped into the fireplace, and by now he was standing on the other end of the connection.  Her fists clenched.  It was the most unintelligent thing the Potions Master had ever done, save for joining the Death Eaters in the first place.  It could very well be a trap.  There could be thirty Death Eaters on the other side who knew that he was a spy, waiting for him to come through so they could torture him to a slow and painful death.

It took all the control she had in her being to remain where she was.  The connection was still open…she could go through.  Not that it would make much of a difference if it was a trap; it would only get her killed alongside the impulsive professor.  And if it wasn't a trap, if it was just Karkaroff amusing himself by making idle threats, Snape would kill her himself.

She was surprised at how much the thought of Snape dying bothered her.  She knew he'd told her to stay put, but if he wasn't back in ten minutes, she was going straight to Albus Dumbledore.

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

Severus Snape knew Malfoy Manor when he saw it, even if he was in the dark sublevels of the gargantuan mansion.

"_Lumos_," he whispered, and the dark room lit up.  Karkaroff was on the other side of the room, cowering like a trapped animal.  The moment he saw Snape, he took off at a sprint for the nearest door.

"_Immobulis__!"_

Karkaroff fell to the ground, his limbs frozen and unmoving.

"Severus, please, it's only a bit of harmless fun!" he blubbered, his voice cracking with desperation.

"Shut up," Snape snarled, towering over the defenseless man.  "I'm only going to say this once, Karkaroff.  If anything – _anything_ – happens to Selena, I will personally rip your intestines out and use them to strangle you.  You needn't worry about the Dark Lord while I'm still alive, _Igor_."

"If you touch me Lucius will tell our Lord!" Karkaroff threatened shrilly.

"How stupid you are.  Lucius is only using you for his own agenda.  When the time comes, if I'm not around to do it, he'll most certainly turn on you and kill you."

"No!"

"Wait and see.  _Accio__ wand!_"

Karkaroff's wand flew into Snape's hand, and he took the opportunity to deliver a hard, swift kick to the other man's ribs.

"Remember, _Igor_," he hissed as he turned his back on the quaking Death Eater.  "Anything happens to her, and I will find you and make you wish you'd never been born."

He heard Karkaroff whimper as he stepped into the fireplace once again.

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

Hermione had just gotten to her feet, prepared to run up to Dumbledore's office, when Snape came back through the fireplace.  She froze like a deer in headlights, fear permeating her body.  He looked unhinged.

He closed the floo connection and put out the fire with a spell, and then reached into his pocket and placed two wands on his desk.  He seemed calm, but his jerky movements gave him away.

She didn't think she could have moved even if she had wanted to.  In her mind, there was nothing in the world, save for Voldemort himself, that was more dangerous than a deranged Severus Snape.

He whirled and punched the wall above the fireplace, so suddenly that Hermione jumped and backed away even though there was already a good ten feet between them.  She heard the nasty crack of his knuckles against the stone and cringed.  Interminable seconds ticked by, and when he finally dropped his hand back to his side, blood was already making its way down his long fingers.

A moment later he collapsed into his chair.  He didn't look at her; he simply laid his head in the crook of his arm on the stack of parchment on the desk and closed his eyes.  His injured hand rested limply in his lap, and the silence stretched.

When it became clear that he wasn't going to say anything, she forced herself to speak.

"P-professor?" she stammered in a tiny voice.

"Please leave, Hermione."

She didn't know if it was his defeated posture or his tone of voice or the simple fact that he'd called her by her first name instead of 'Miss Granger' that deflated her Gryffindor stubbornness.  She normally would have protested, maybe even insisted on helping him, or, god forbid, even comforted the distraught man.  But it was already enough of a blow to his pride for her to have seen him this way.

She moved toward the door and glanced back as she took hold of the handle.

"You'll…you'll go to Madame Pomfrey, right?" she dared to ask.

He gave no reply, but she hadn't really expected one.  She slipped out the door quietly, closing it behind her.  Her heart was still pounding wildly in her chest as she navigated the empty halls.  It must be dinner time.

Hermione wasn't hungry.  In fact, the very thought of food made her stomach twist uncomfortably.  So she headed for Gryffindor tower, mumbling the password and breezing past the portrait of the Fat Lady.

For the next hour she tried to study, but no matter what she did, she couldn't expel the voices of Draco Malfoy and Igor Karkaroff from her mind.

_"The Death Eaters will break a lot more than your nose…"_

_"Tread carefully…"_

Notes:  Thanks to everyone who reviewed.  A few quick notes:

Disvydanya is goodbye in Russian The quote "An eye for an eye and the whole world goes blind" belongs to Mahatma Ghandi Thanks to the people who informed that Karkaroff's first name is Igor 


	12. Fallout

It was almost midnight when Albus Dumbledore's head appeared in the fire in Severus's chamber.  At first the Potions professor didn't notice; he was in his ridiculously sinister black leather armchair, staring at something that wasn't even there.  One hand held a glass loosely, its bottom still tinted a deep red from the few drops of brandy that remained.  His injured hand still rested in his lap – he hadn't gone to Pomfrey, as Hermione had suggested.  The pain helped him focus.  The alcohol had dulled the terrible throb a bit, but it was still quite noticeable.  He supposed it was quite a testament to his life when he could say with the utmost confidence that a broken hand was nothing compared to the Cruciatus curse.

"Severus?"

The glass slipped out of his hand and shattered on the stone floor.  At first it had no effect; he simply kept staring, his eyes distant.  It took him a minute to come out of the semiconscious state he'd lapsed into.  At last he turned his head towards the fireplace.

"Albus."

"Severus, I think you should come up to my office."

Snape's eyes slid shut in agony, and at that moment he looked three times his age.

"Just tell me."

"I want you to come up here."

"It can't be that bad, can it?" he whispered.

"I expect you up here in five minutes."

There was a pop, and Dumbledore was gone.

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

"Severus!"  Dumbledore exclaimed as he came through the door.  The old wizard's voice was laced with shock.  Snape looked a fright; he was very pale and the circles under his eyes looked like week-old bruises.  He knew his Potions Master did not sleep much to begin with, but it was clear that Snape hadn't gotten a minute of rest since the advent of this mess.

"Just tell me."

"Severus, I've told you this a thousand times.  You cannot expect to help your sister or anyone else if you don't take care of yourself!"

Snape collapsed into one of the chairs, his good hand coming up to rub his forehead.

"I haven't been neglecting myself.  I can't close my eyes without…"

"Then I'll have Poppy bring you a Sleeping Draught.  You're dead on your feet, Severus."

"Will I want to sleep after what you're going to tell me?"

There was a significant pause.

"You may not want to, but you will."

Snape stood and began to pace.  Dumbledore watched the younger man traverse the small room.

"He didn't kill her, did he?  Please tell me he didn't," Severus said at last, sinking back into the chair he'd occupied a minute ago.

"No.  Selena is alive," Dumbledore said, opening a drawer and pulling a piece of parchment out.  "I received this about an hour ago."

Snape took the single piece of parchment apprehensively.  He looked at Dumbledore, trying to figure out what he was about to read, but the older wizard's countenance betrayed nothing.  At last he lowered his eyes to the small, neat script.

_As of __five o'clock__ this evening, a verdict was handed down in the trial of Selena Snape.  The defendant was found guilty of one count of Murder by Unforgivable and two counts of perjury, and was later sentenced by Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge to life in Azkaban.  Spokesperson Filibus Flitwick was held in contempt of court and charged with aiding and abetting a fugitive, and has been sentenced to six months in Azkaban.  If you wish to appeal these decisions…_

The letter went on, but the words blurred.  Snape set it back on Dumbledore's desk and slouched in his chair.

"How?" he asked a few minutes later.

"That is what I have been trying to figure out since the owl came."

"I know she didn't do it."

"So do I."

When Snape spoke next, his voice was barely audible and choked with emotion.

"How could Lucius do this to her?"

            *                       *                       *                       *                       *                       

"I came as quickly as I could," Minerva McGonagall said, pushing a greyed strand of hair out of her face.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said, reaching for another chair.

"Has something happened?" Minerva said, nodding her head towards the still form of the Potions Master.

"Not to Severus.  I just had Poppy give him a double dose of Sleeping Draught."

"He looks like hell."

"He hasn't been able to sleep since this whole thing started.  Apparently he broke his hand somehow, as well…you should have seen Poppy, I thought she was going to rouse the whole school with her shouting."

"Well, he does tend to let injuries linger."

"Yes, you are quite correct.  But all other things aside, Minerva, we do have a problem."

"And that is?" she asked.  Dumbledore handed her the infamous piece of parchment and settled back in his chair to watch as she read.  Her mouth dropped open a few seconds later, and a horrified look bloomed on her face.

"How is this possible?" she demanded, lowering the parchment.

"I don't know.  This worries me greatly, Minerva.  There was absolutely no evidence, and Fudge still convicted her.  He has not handed down such a harsh sentence in years.  But truth be told, I am more worried about Filibus than Selena."

McGonagall looked up sharply.

"Why?"

"Filibus has very little to live for.  Six hours in Azkaban can ruin a man.  He has six months…and every day of it he will be reliving the worst moments of his life."

"You're not actually thinking of letting Malfoy have his way, are you?" Minerva said, hitting Dumbledore with a full-force disapproving glare.

"Well, honestly, Minerva, what can I do?  The Daily Prophet will latch onto this story like vultures to a carcass.  If they get wind of the fact that Selena was here, and that I didn't report the supposed murderer…"

"She is not a murderer, and that is the bottom line.  Of course I'm worried about Filibus, too, but Selena is at the mercy of Malfoy, and to be bluntly realistic, he is insane!  Who knows what he'll do to her!"

"That is why I've asked you here, Minerva."

McGonagall pursed her lips, looking at him expectantly.

"As you know, Selena has Animagus abilities.  I have never told you this…perhaps I should have, I don't know…"

"Get on with it, Albus."

"Naturally you remember Remus Lupin."

"Of course."

"And you remember that when the full moon drew near, we sent him to the Shrieking Shack."

"Yes."

"What you didn't know was that Sirius, James, and Peter successfully became Animagi in their third year and accompanied Remus during his transformations."

"How on earth did they manage that?" she sputtered, clearly shocked.  "I certainly didn't teach them!"

"Yes, well, when the Marauders put their minds to something…"

"I suppose.  What forms did they take on?"

"Sirius was a black dog, James a stag, and Peter a rat."

"A black dog?  Wait just a moment…" she said, her brow furrowing as she put two and two together.  "That dog that sometimes skulks around Potter…"

Dumbledore nodded.

"That's Sirius."

"But he--!"

"There's much more to the story, Minerva.  Do you recall Weasley's old familiar?"

"Yes, a rat.  Scabbard, or something like that."

"That was Peter."

"What?!  But Peter Pettigrew is dead, Sirius killed him…"

Dumbledore shook his head.

"Sirius was originally the Potters' secret keeper.  But when he began hearing that perhaps James and Lily were targets, he begged me to get someone else to be their secret keeper.  He thought that it would be too obvious if it was him, and if the Death Eaters came after him, he didn't think he'd be able to prevent himself from telling if they chose to torture him.  So I finally relented and we chose a new secret keeper."

"And who was it?"

"Peter."

"But…"

"Incidentally, Peter was also a Death Eater."

"What?"

"It's the truth.  None of us knew.  As soon as the switch was made from Sirius to Peter, the Potters were killed.  And since no one but me knew that the secret keeper had been changed, they all thought that Sirius had betrayed James and Lily."

"But what about London?"

"Sirius was looking for Peter – he was devastated.  But he wasn't the one that killed all those Muggles.  It was Peter, and he simply changed himself into his Animagus form after casting the spell.  He left nothing but his clothes behind.  Everyone assumed that Sirius had killed him and all those Muggles.  And the rest, as they say, is history."

"So you're telling me that Sirius Black is completely innocent and that Peter Pettigrew was – is -- a Death Eater?"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you."

Minerva massaged her temples, overwhelmed with information. 

"And how exactly does this relate to Selena and Filibus?" she asked, still trying to fathom all that she had been told.

"Sirius was able to escape from Azkaban in his Animagus form.  The Dementors don't pay any attention to animals – they ignore what they can't affect." 

"So if someone got that information to Selena, she could escape, too?"

"Precisely."

"But what about Filibus?  He has no Animagus abilities, as far as I know.  We can't just leave him there."

"I've talked it over with Severus.  He can make a potion that will change Filibus into whatever animal we please."

"So we're going to break both of them out," Minerva said.

"Yes.  This is the plan.  I'll have Sirius go to Selena, and the two of them should be all right.  You have the more difficult part in this, Minerva.  I need you to go to Filibus with the potion."

"But what if I'm recognized?  I'm actually registered."

"Can you change your markings?"

The Transfigurations professor nodded.

"It will take some extra energy, but I can."

"Good.  Problem solved, then."

"Where are they going to stay once they're out?" she asked.  "They can't come here, the students will recognize them.  And then of course the powers that be will have you out in the blink of an eye."

"I suppose they will stay with Sirius.  Filibus will have to.  I'm not sure about Selena.  I may want her here."

McGonagall nodded.

"And when will this plan be put in motion?"

"A week from today."

She nodded curtly, gathering her robe around herself and standing up.

"One more thing, Minerva," Dumbledore said.  "During the time when Selena was in school, do you ever remember finding her in the Gryffindor dormitory?"

            McGonagall blinked, surprised by the question.

            "Sometimes she would study with Remus, but I never saw her anywhere other than the Common Room."

            "Fair enough.  Thank you.  Now, it's late…do get some rest, Minerva, dear."

            "There's more that you aren't telling me," she said bluntly.

            "Yes, there is, but I haven't got it entirely figured out myself," Dumbledore nodded.  "That is why I need Selena out of Azkaban."

            McGonagall nodded shortly, annoyed by the secrecy but understanding the Headmaster's need to sort things out on his own.

            "Good night, Albus."

            "Sleep well, Minerva."

            Minerva knew as she strode out of the infirmary and into the darkened halls that this night was neither good, nor at all conducive to an easy sleep.

            *                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

            _Two months into Seventh Year:_

_            Selena mockingly put her hands over her ears as they approached the Fat Lady portrait entrance of Gryffindor.  Remus shook his head, smiling, and then spoke the password.  It really didn't matter whether she heard the password or not; if she wanted to know it, all she had to do was dip into any random Gryffindor's mind.  But he knew that wasn't her style, and that she would be content to rely on him to let her in._

_            "Aren't you glad this is our last year?" Remus asked, dropping his books on one of the study tables.  She set hers beside his and shrugged._

_            "I don't think you ever really stop learning," she said.  "But I have to admit that it will be nice to do it on my own time, instead of waking up at the crack of dawn."_

_            He nodded, settling down into one of the chairs.  She followed suit, reaching for her books.  Just when they had gotten settled, he shot out of his chair like a firework had gone off in his back pocket._

_            "Gods, I'm a git sometimes.  Do you want anything?  A drink, something to eat?"_

_            Selena smiled, waving off his self-deprecating comments._

_            "I'll have something to drink, as long as you're up."_

_            He nodded and disappeared.  A few minutes later he came back with two large glasses of water and set them on the table.  She reached for hers and took a long sip, looking at her companion over the brim._

_            "Don't you ever worry that McGonagall will catch you up this late?"_

_            "She doesn't make her night round until about two.  It's only __twelve thirty__."_

_            She gave him an amused look, and he shrugged._

_            "I'm a night person, what can I say," Remus explained._

_            "Aren't you tired during the day?"_

_            "I'm tired all the time, so it doesn't make much of a difference."_

_            "I've always meant to ask you…" she said, tilting her head to the side.  "But it always seemed rude.  I hope you'll forgive me for prying…but is there something wrong with you?  You're always so pale and tired…"_

_            Remus shrugged, going quiet._

_            "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked.  Forget it ever happened," Selena said, putting her hand over his for a moment._

_            "No," he said, his hand tightening around hers.  "It's all right.  I don't really know what it is.  My Mum's not very fond of doctors.  As far as she's concerned, I'm just frail.  She thinks that maybe a warmer climate would help, but there are no good schools that would take me…"_

_            "Why not?  You're a very talented wizard."_

_            "We're too poor.  I'm in here on a lot of favors," Remus said, his cheeks reddening slightly._

_            "Don't be ashamed," she scoffed, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.  "Money isn't everything."_

_            "So I've heard."_

_            "Don't let stupid things like that get you down, Remus.  You're much more handsome when you smile."_

_            Lupin blinked, swallowing as he felt his cheeks heat.  She laughed at his reaction, which only made him blush more.  That caused her to laugh even harder, and eventually he began to laugh, too._

_            "Shhh!" he gasped a minute later, once his laughing fit receded.  "McGonagall will hear us!"_

_            This only made her burst out giggling again.  He dove across the table and put his hand over her mouth, throwing them both off balance and onto the floor with a rather loud thud._

_            "Now she'll definitely hear us!" Selena whispered, smirking up at him.  As if on cue, shuffling sounds could be heard from the office adjoining the Common Room._

_"Shit!" Remus exclaimed, rolling away from her.  He looked around wildly for a moment and then pulled her to her feet with strength that his appearance belied.  "The dormitory!  Now!"_

_"But won't she check?" she asked, even as Remus hauled her up the stairs._

_"James has an Invisibility Cloak."_

_She nodded, letting Remus lead her through the unfamiliar corridors.  The dormitory was quiet when they entered, and as she looked around the circle of red-and-gold draped beds, she was hit with a strong sense of wrongness._

_"Come on," he said, his arm going around her waist and guiding her towards one of the beds.  She swallowed as he parted the canopy and sat her gingerly on the edge of his bed.  It was the first time she was in the bed of any man other than Lucius.  It was strange, and even though she trusted Remus, she felt edgy. _

_ "Be right back," he said, giving her a wink.  She nodded and waited quietly, listening to the soft snoring that her senses told her was coming from Peter._

_He returned a moment later, even as they heard the door to the dormitory squeak open.  Remus threw the cloak over her, practically tackled her down onto the bed, and quickly pulled the comforter over their bodies.  _

_They heard the click of McGonagall's boots walking slowly around the room, and then the sound of a canopy being pulled back.  Remus's breath tickled her neck and a shiver went through her body.  The arm that was draped over her waist tightened slightly in a gesture that was supposed to be comforting, but only succeeded in reminding her of the rough texture of the skin on his palms.  A detail she'd filed away in her mind a few years ago, one that often led her mind to wander through possibilities that were best ignored when you had a boyfriend.  Lucius's hands were soft, unscarred and uncalloused, never having known manual labor.  It wasn't necessarily bad, but the contrast between his touch and Remus's made her thoughts stray._

_Remus's__ breathing was slow and even against her neck, and she willed herself to be absolutely still.  She heard the canopy rustle as it was pulled back._

_It seemed like McGonagall stood there forever.  Her heart pounded in tandem with Remus's, and his fingers twitched involuntarily over the skin of her stomach.  But finally, finally the canopy fell back into place, and McGonagall's boots clicked out of the room._

_Her muscles relaxed and she released a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.  Remus had a similar reaction, collapsing onto his back and breathing a sigh of relief._

_"Close one, hm?" he whispered, grinning at her with his arms behind his head._

_"That's an understatement," she replied, tossing the cloak off. _

_They lay together in companionable silence for a few moments, until realization dawned on Selena.  She shot up and looked down at him, her mouth open._

_"What?" he asked, looking confused._

_"Remus, we left our books in the Common Room!"_

_His eyes widened, and then he cursed softly.  _

_"Shit.  We're going to get caught anyway!  And after all that effort!_

_She shrugged._

_"It'll just be some house points, maybe a detention or two."_

_"It's worth it," he said, sitting up._

_And before she knew what was happening, his hand had turned her face toward his and he was kissing her._

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

Harry was sitting on the couch in the common room with the Yearbook Hermione had not yet returned to the library in his lap.  He was watching that year's Quidditch championship, Gryffindor versus Slytherin.  Ravenclaw hadn't won a single game without Selena.  He could not help the swell of hatred that rose in his chest as he watched Lucius Malfoy catch the Snitch, ending the game and winning it for Slytherin.

When he and Ron had returned to the Common Room last night after dinner, one look at Hermione had told him that all was not well.  They'd only managed to pry bits of the story out of her last night and she'd been quiet during breakfast.

He looked up sharply as she emerged from the stairwell.

"Hermione," he said, noticing the distracted look on her face.  She jumped slightly and turned towards him, blinking.

"Oh, hey Harry," she said after a moment, running a hand absently through her curls.

"Where are you off to?  We don't have class for another half hour."

She frowned and said nothing for a moment.

"If you must know, Harry, I'm going to see Snape."

"Snape?" Harry asked, looking bewildered.  "Why?  Did the bastard give you detention?"

"No," she replied, shaking her head.  She hadn't told them about the incident in Snape's office last night; she'd simply recounted Draco's threats, which had appeased their curiosity.

"Then why?"

"I've got to ask him something."

"Like what?" Harry demanded hotly, standing and crossing his arms over his chest.

"I want to know how Selena is."

"You can ask Dumbledore about that!"

"I want to ask Snape, and if you don't like it, well, you can just sod off!"

Harry was stunned into silence for a moment, and she took that as her cue to head towards the door.

"Do you honestly think he'll give you a straight answer?  In all likelihood he'll just snap at you to leave him alone and take off house points for bothering him," Harry said quietly.

"You know what, Harry?  Lots of people were willing to give you a second chance when it seemed like you were the Heir of Slytherin and responsible for all the petrifications.  People were able to see the good in you.  Maybe you should take off your blinders and start looking for it in others." 

She pushed open the portrait-hole and left, leaving Harry behind with his mouth hanging open.  A moment later, Ron cleared his throat from the entrance to the boys' dormitory.

"Well, now we both know what it's like to have her clapping mad at us."

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

Hermione tried to put the confrontation with Harry out of her mind for the time being, but she couldn't.  She knew that she'd been rather mean, but his attitude infuriated her.  It was bad enough to have Ron fussing over her like she was an invalid, but now Harry thought he could tell her what to do and who to associate with?  

She supposed she couldn't completely blame him for his very close-minded view of Snape; he hadn't seen what she had.  It was easy to regard the Potions Master as a one-dimensional man set on darkening the life of every single student that ever set foot in the dungeons.  But Dumbledore had said it himself; most of it was an act.  Perhaps his irritation was real, because there truly weren't very many witches or wizards that had the knack for potions.  And his Slytherin favoritism was definitely real, perhaps a little exaggerated.  But his cruelty, his sarcasm, his coldness – they were just walls.

She wasn't sure how Snape would receive her now.  She'd seen too much.  She'd witnessed real emotion, vulnerability – she'd seen that the man really did have the capacity to care.  He'd always treated her with the barest iota of respect.  It wasn't that he was kind to her; certainly not.  But he never punished her without provocation (which he was sometimes wont to do to others), and if one of her essays deserved full credit, he'd give it to her in spite of his dislike for her know-it-all Gryffindor attitude.  But now, having breached his walls, how would he react to her?

She would get her answer soon, because her path through the dungeons was unobstructed by Malfoy or any other obnoxious Slytherin.

Hermione glanced into the classroom first, just to make sure he wasn't there.  Her suspicion proved correct; the room was empty and dim, with only one candle flickering on his desk.  Now she had to hope that he was in his office and not his personal quarters; she wasn't bold enough to try to go there.

She walked a little further down the hallway and knocked on the door.  She heard the scrape of a chair moving and then a weary,

"Who is it?"

The first time she opened her mouth, nothing came out.  She swallowed and forced herself to speak.

"It's Hermione Granger, sir."

Her declaration was met with silence.  She stood at the door, feeling increasingly nervous and stupid.  Her cheeks heated and her throat closed up, and the sensation of tears pooling in her eyes was unmistakable.  Hermione bit her lip hard, refusing to cry.  She knew that this would most likely be his reaction; he probably felt the need to re-distance himself from her.  But she had expected some snide comment, a scathing remark or two – not just silence.

She took a deep breath, trying to rid herself of the sting of rejection.  _Ok, Hermione, you're just going to lift your chin up and walk away.  And then you're going to go to class and look him straight in the eye and not let yourself be intimidated.  In fact, you're never going to hold your tongue against him again.  No, from now on, you're going to say exactly what's on your mind—_

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione jumped, gasping.  She hadn't heard him approach the door or open it.  Although she supposed that was a good thing; when one was a spy, stealth was an invaluable talent.

"Professor!  I'm sorry…I thought…" she stammered.

Snape rolled his eyes and walked back into his office, leaving the door ajar.  Hermione stood for a moment longer, half in shock.

"I don't have all day, Miss Granger!" he snapped.  She was startled into motion by his sharp tone, and she practically tripped over herself getting into the room.  He was sitting at his desk with his feet up, glaring with half his normal intensity.  There was the Snape she knew; she almost felt like she was there for detention.

As she sank into one of the chairs, she noticed that his coloring was better today, and his hand was no longer bruised and mangled.  He flicked his wand and the door closed, at which point his eyes fell expectantly onto her.

"Have you heard anything?" she asked bluntly, getting right to the point.

"Why do you care so much?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

He stared at her for a moment, his black eyes fathomless and unreadable.  Then he lifted his feet from the desk and settled into a normal sitting position, leaning forward so his chin rested in his palm.  Another unnerving gesture, simply because it was so normal.  He continued to stare.  She swallowed nervously, but did not back down.  She stared right back, her large brown eyes never wavering from the onyx depths of his.

"Well," he said at last, relaxing into his chair.  "As much as I'm enjoying the staring contest, our time is limited."  He paused and sighed, his expression softening.  "She's in Azkaban.  So is Flitwick."

"What?!  How?!"

"If I knew how she wouldn't be in there!" he said through his teeth, his frustration evident.

All she could manage through her indignation and anger was a malice-filled growl of,

"Malfoy!"

"For once, Miss Granger, I couldn't agree with you more."

The room was quiet as they both fumed.  A few minutes later his hand slipped into a drawer, his fingers closing over Karkaroff's confiscated wand.  He rolled the cool wood absently between his fingers and glanced up at Hermione.

"What does the Gryffindor know-it-all think I should do to the dear Mr. Karkaroff when I find him?"

"Forget Karkaroff," she said.  "Voldemort will take care of him.  You should focus your efforts on Malfoy."

Snape tilted his head to the side and regarded her, a strange look on his face.

"You have the tongue of a Slytherin when provoked, Miss Granger.  It is an attribute that is best suppressed, especially considering your parentage.  Such scathing oratory could make you a target."

"That doesn't scare me."

"Ah yes, the famous Gryffindor courage."

"No.  I'm not scared because I know that even within the Death Eaters, there is someone on my side."

Snape chuckled humorlessly.

"What is one against so many?  You fail to understand, Miss Granger.  All that I do – everything – it's just a drop in the ocean.  If the Death Eaters choose to make you a target, I doubt I could do much more than guarantee you a proper burial."

Hermione looked down at her hands.

"Do you think they will?"

"You heard Malfoy.  You know as well as I that he delights in spewing whatever information he is privy to at home.  You are a Muggle-born, you have the highest marks in the school, and you're probably on your way to Prefect or Head Girl.  The Death Eaters could not ask for a better target."

She sighed heavily.

"I thought so."  She looked up and frowned, seeming to choose her words carefully.  It was for a good reason, because her next statement surprised him.  "Just…please don't let Harry or Ron know.  They're already bad enough, threatening to beat up any boy that so much as looks at me.  If they were to know that I was in danger, I'd never get out of the Common Room again."

"You know I would never willingly engage either Mr. Potter or Mr. Weasley in conversation."

"Not even if they got it in their heads to try to talk to you?"

"Why would they?" he said warily

"I don't know.  I kind of got in a fight with Harry…about you…"

His eyebrows went up, and suddenly he looked markedly uncomfortable.  If not for the somber overtones of the previous conversation, she would have laughed.

"I doubt he'd do anything, but if you should be confronted by a certain enraged Gryffindor…just do what you normally would."

"Take off a thousand house points?" he smirked.

"Yes, well, that would keep you in character."

"Not only that, I daresay it would be quite entertaining," Snape replied, a ghost of a smile crossing his features.

"Did you just-?" she trailed off, not trusting her eyes.

"No, certainly not.  It was just your overactive Gryffindor imagination, Miss Granger."  

The words were barbed, but his tone was not.  She watched as he got up and went to one of the cabinets, removing some ingredient or another.  A few moments later there were four or five bottles on the desk, and he returned his attention to her.

"Of course, Miss Granger, you know that I must obliviate you now," he said gravely.  His tone was so serious that she shot to her feet and drew her wand, her mouth dropping open even as she wrestled the sliver of wood out of her pocket.

The intense feeling of surrealism she'd been experiencing since stepping into his office multiplied by a thousand when, a moment later, Severus Snape burst out laughing.  It was a foreign but surprisingly natural sound, deep and rich.  She was horribly confused for a second, but then she realized that it was a joke.  A joke that had scared the bejesus out of her.  A spear of anger went through her, and she glowered at him.  But that was when she began to see what Selena had spoken of; he really didn't look so old when he had something besides a scowl on his face.

It took him a minute to compose himself.  He took a deep breath and forced his features to settle into a neutral expression.

"The expression on your face, Granger, may possibly make up for however many cauldrons Longbottom melts today."

"Well I'm glad _you_ found it amusing," she said moodily, still half-glaring.

"Do something for me, Miss Granger."

"I don't think that I should be doing anything for you after that prank," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Well, I do seem to remember being knocked senseless by you and your comrades two years ago," he said slyly, raising an eyebrow.

"Sod it all," she frowned.  "What is it, then?"

"Work with Longbottom so I don't have to worry about him blowing up the whole bloody school.  Make the whole potion yourself if you want to.  I won't even check it.  I don't care as long as I never have to spend another moment with that bumbling boy.  He is even inept at detention."

She blinked.  That was not at all what she had expected.  Then again, the last twenty minutes had made her feel like she was in a different dimension.

"But won't people think it's weird if you suddenly stop having fits over Neville?"

"I didn't say I wouldn't give _you _detentions."

"Seems like a very one-sided deal to me."

He raised an eyebrow.  Now where had she learned to debate and bargain like this?

"During your detentions, I will give you full and unlimited access to my library," Snape said, knowing before he had even finished speaking that the agreement was sealed.  Hermione's eyes went wide.  That time she'd gone through his stores to steal ingredients for the Polyjuice Potion, she'd caught a glimpse at his library.  It was much too tempting to resist.

"Deal."

"One more stipulation."

"What?"

"I don't care what you get out of those books as long as you don't use any of it on me."

She nodded reluctantly.

"All right, then," he said, glancing at the clock over the fireplace.  "Class in five minutes.  You should be going."

Hermione nodded, leaning down to gather her things.  Some of her books had slipped out of the bulging backpack, so she crouched down to rearrange her bag.

Snape, meanwhile, had just put his wand down and was beginning to scoop up the jars he'd taken out a few moments before.  That was when he realized that the wand had not quite felt right in his hand.  He picked it up again, running his fingers along the wood.  What in the bloody hell…?  It was the right wand, but the wear-marks were in the wrong places.  His wand, but the grip wasn't right.  It was as if it had been worn by a smaller hand…

Then he remembered that he'd been toying with Karkaroff's wand while speaking with Hermione.  He must have carried it with him when he stood up.  He slid a hand up his sleeve to confirm his suspicion, and sure enough, he pulled out his own wand.  It was exactly identical to the other one.  Snape frowned, staring intensely at the two wands.

He had always been an observant person, and especially now, when his life could depend on a trifling detail, he paid attention to everything.  He knew for a solid, undeniable fact that this was not Karkaroff's wand.  But if not Karkaroff's, then whose? 

"God have mercy…"

Hermione was halfway out the door, but turned rapidly when she heard the whispered epitaph.

"What is it?" she asked, knowing by the way he had paled that something was grievously wrong.

"The wand I took from Karkaroff…" Snape said, looking up at her with a dazed expression on his face.  "It's not his.  It's Selena's."

The implications of the statement made it to his mind a bit faster than hers, and before she had even processed it, he was jumping into the fireplace, calling,

"Albus Dumbledore!"

Hermione stared frantically around the room for a moment.  Class started in three minutes.  She bit her lip.  She knew she should go to class and pretend that nothing had happened, and be just as mystified as everyone else when Snape didn't show up.  But no, not this time.  She wasn't going to be left out of the loop again.

Taking a deep breath, she grabbed a handful of floo powder.  With a brief prayer that Snape wouldn't revoke all the insight he'd granted her for this, she tossed it into the fire.  It fizzled and glowed green, and with one final steeling of her nerves, she enunciated, "Albus Dumbledore!" and dove into the flames.

A/N – Sorry about all the Snape/Hermione interaction, but I really do think they're a lot alike. I believe Snape sees a lot of himself in Hermione, which may be why he's so cold towards her – the whole "I don't want you to turn out like me" thing. Anyway, in the next chapter you can expect an explanation of Selena's trial. I felt that it would be more dramatic and suspenseful if I gave you the aftereffects of the trial before the trial itself. Plus, that way you'll understand the twists I'm throwing in. In addition, chapter 13 will probably have another flashback, a switch to Lucius's POV, a visit with Cassius, and Snape will be called to a Revel where the main entertainment is much too familiar. Thanks to everyone who reviewed – I changed our buddy Karkaroff's name and fixed whatever other errors I came across in the story. You guys are great, and I hope you like this chapter. ~SPF


	13. Ignorance is Bliss

"Pasha!  Another round!" one of the regulars called, his speech already slurred.

"And one for the hot bartender!" the woman on his arm shrilled, batting her eyelashes at him.  Cassius smiled and chuckled to himself, half at the nickname and half at the ridiculous flirtation of the very intoxicated woman.  He poured the shots dutifully, measuring one out for himself.  He wasn't really a fan of vodka, but the Russians had it in their blood.  Besides, you had to love your customers if they were going to love you back.

"Dance for us, Pasha!" someone else shouted.  He rolled his eyes.  Ever since 'Lena had told them about that American movie where scantily clad women (and even a man or two) danced around on the bar in New York City, there were at least three nightly attempts to get him up on the bar to shake it.  He had to draw the line somewhere, though.  He was no dancer, at least not the kind they wanted.

He tossed a lock of hair out of his face and promptly moved to fill the next order.  He'd taken some ribbing when he'd first decided to grow his hair out.  It was considered feminine for a man to have his hair any longer than chin length out here.  It also wasn't very practical, since shampoo and other hair care products were a precious and very expensive commodity.  Most women even kept their hair short, and his caretakers had complained ceaselessly about how pointless it was for him to keep his pale locks long.  Then he'd pointed out that they never made Selena cut her hair, to which they'd answered that she was an adult, and besides, her hair was too pretty to cut.  But then again they'd never liked him much anyway, and he couldn't really blame them.

Finally, to appease them, he'd decided on dreadlocks.  That way he was able to keep his hair long, reduce the number of gay jokes that flew at him on a daily basis, and not worry about using up all their shampoo.  Of course that had only changed their argument from wastefulness to hygiene.  For the most part, though, they left him alone.  He was quite sure that it was because 'rastafarian' was a nightmare to pronounce in Russian.

It was funny, though, what hair could do.  Ever since he'd taken up the debatable style, the gay jokes had stopped and now he was barraged with innuendo instead.  He'd been told that it was 'exotic' and 'rebellious' and a few dozen other totally unrelated adjectives.  Being behind the bar seemed to double the effect; the sheer amount of scraps of paper bearing phone numbers and names that had been shoved down his pants or into his tip bowl was ridiculous.  He always felt guilty calling the women, though.  After all, they'd been drunk when they gave out the numbers.  They probably didn't find him attractive at all without the beer goggles.

"Pasha!  Two rums and a Cosmopolitan!"  

"Da!" he answered, deftly flipping the glasses onto the counter.  Just as he was reaching for the rum, he felt something warm and fuzzy brush up against his leg.  "Apollo!" he exclaimed with a smile as he crouched to pick up the cat.  He set it on the ledge in front of him and scratched behind the feline's ears.  Apollo purred for a moment, but then nipped lightly at his hand.  It was the cat's way of telling him that he had a message.  Cassius smiled.  Perhaps Selena would be home soon.

He took the scrap of parchment from the pouch on the cat's hind leg and then finished pouring the last order.  Then, before anyone else could shout an order at him, he ducked into the back room to read.  Apollo jumped down from the bar and followed, twining between his feet.

Cassius unfolded the letter and frowned immediately.  The letter was smudged in several spots…small circular or oval spots where the ink ran together.  It was as if the writer had been weeping.  This did not bode well.  He glanced at Apollo; the cat was stalking back and forth across the floor, his ears flattened and his tail flicking back and forth in a very agitated manner.  This wasn't the "feed me" or "pay attention to me" stalk; this was the behavior only witnessed when Apollo's mistress was unhappy or in trouble.  The cat stopped and yowled at him, showing its teeth.

Cassius returned his attention to the letter and began to read.  A minute later found him both tense with anger and paralyzed with fear.  This didn't sound like his 'Lena at all.  The words were defeated, resigned, and utterly hopeless.  Another moment's thought caused the anger to override the fear; she had not said it in the letter, but he knew instinctively that it was all Lucius's doing.

He bit his lip hard enough to leave bloodless teeth marks.

_Don't come after me_, the letter said.  _You don't deserve this._

"Bullshit," Cassius said out loud.  He began to pace, his agitation escalating to the same level as Apollo's.  She'd told him a long time ago that Lucius wasn't right in the head anymore; he never had been to begin with, but everything that had happened during that fateful Seventh Year had destroyed him.  Thinking back on that conversation – it had to have been at least ten years ago, how time flew! – Cassius felt fury building in him.  She felt sorry for him.  She felt sorry for the man who had ruined her life.  She thought of him before herself, as if somehow he had things worse.  And she had even taken in his little brother, the very image of him, when the Malfoy family fell apart, split like a fault line by its own loyalties.  What must it be like, staring at a blonde-haired, blue-eyed Malfoy clone every day? 

He felt an acute disgust rise in his chest, for himself, for his brother, for the world that let this happen…but mostly for the original source of the problem.  The Dark Lord.  Voldemort.

It all went back to Voldemort.

Cassius made his decision right then, and the air shivered with a deep and crackling surge of magical energy.  Malfoy blood was old blood, infused with a raw power that was not often found in the wizarding world.  It no longer made a difference to Cassius that he would be using that power against one of his own.

He picked Apollo up and placed the cat on his shoulder.  He then made his way out of the back room, carefully changing the expression on his face from cold ire to a look of concerned anxiety.  At once, people began to assail him with drink orders, in response to which he held up a hand and shook his head.

"Last call!" he shouted, his determined voice rising over the din.

All activity in the bar stopped, and dozens of confused faces turned towards the dreadlocked bartender.

"I know it's early," he went on, looking from face to face.  "But the police just called.  They think they've found a lead on Galina."

No one needed any further explanation.  People stood and began to file out, placing their empty, or in some cases, still half-full glasses on the bar.  The last to leave was Grisha, a dark, heavyset man who came in every night at seven like clockwork.  He tipped his battered hat, and tossed a stack of money onto the counter.

"Bring her home to us, Pasha," he said, and then he was out in the darkening streets.  Cassius was left alone with an empty bar, his only companion the white cat that was still tense and coiled on his shoulder like a spring.   

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

The day before, at the trial of Selena Snape:

Filibus Flitwick gave a long and withering look to the blonde man sitting a few feet away from him.  Malfoy actually looked a bit ill; he was paler than usual, his hair less perfect, his eyes a bit more tired than they should have been.  Flitwick felt zero sympathy for him.  He was sure that no matter what Selena had done to him, he deserved it.

He'd be lying if he said that he wasn't frustrated with the way things were going.  Something about Selena had changed last night, and she wouldn't tell him what had happened.  She wasn't the same person she had been yesterday.  Her fire, her defiance…they had been quenched in a most disturbing fashion.  He knew Lucius must have done something to her, but she waved off his questions and insisted that she was fine.  He liked to think that if Malfoy had gone so far as to…assault her, she'd tell him.  But he just didn't know anymore.  

"Cross examinations," Fudge said, waving his gavel lazily.  He looked bored.  Flitwick resisted the very strong urge to lift his wand and make a leg grow out of the Minister of Magic's head.

"Ms. Snape?" Lucius said, standing and declining his head towards her.  Flitwick was relieved to see her eyes narrow and darken.  He gave her knee a gentle squeeze under the table.  She'd be all right.  He thought a few reassuring things, winking slightly.  She nodded, having picked up his thoughts.  There was a scrape in the silent courtroom as she pushed her chair back and straightened her robes.  Then she took a deep breath and allowed Lucius to lead her to the stand, his hand resting annoyingly on the small of her back.  Truth be told, she wanted to turn around and punch him, but that certainly wouldn't win her any supporters. 

She sat rigidly, carefully controlling her expression.  She had to look neutral.  Neutral, neutral, neutral.  Must not show hate…must not show desire to rip his hair out.  For a moment, she wondered what would have happened if she had given him a swift uppercut on the way up.  She could have made a real scene…broken down screaming and crying, shamefully revealing that he'd nearly raped her last night, showing the bruises she still had on her wrists.  She could remind them that he was a convicted murderer, that he'd spent three months in St. Mungo's without the slightest idea what his own name was, that he still bore the Dark Mark and answered its call…

But no.  She had the distinct feeling that none of it would matter to Cornelius Fudge.  The more she looked at him, the more she felt the aura of the Dark Lord on him.  She knew it well; it hung about Severus sometimes after he came back from the gatherings.  That was what made him so fidgety.  He could feel it on himself, and he hated it.

She swallowed and raised her chin, waiting for Lucius to speak.  He paced the length of the courtroom once, twice…and Fudge did nothing to hurry him along.  Finally he looked up, his eyes as startlingly blue as always.

"Well," he said, moving closer to the stand, close enough to make her uncomfortable.  "We have heard your side of the story, Ms. Snape.  But I do think it's time to get down to business.  Ladies and gentlemen, this is where the circumstantial evidence comes to an end and we begin to examine the concrete.  Mr. Ollivander, if you would be so kind?"

Britain's premier wand maker and salesman nodded and stood, making his way to Lucius's side.

"Here we have the wand belonging to Ms. Selena Snape," Lucius said, lifting a dark, polished wand from its place in front of Fudge.  He held it gingerly and distastefully, as if it had been sneezed on by a mudblood.  "It was taken into custody at the time of her arrest.  To alleviate any confusion or controversy, she herself signed a document claiming this wand as her own.  Here you are, Minister Fudge," he practically purred, handing a piece of parchment to the indifferent man.

Selena watched Lucius carefully.  Why was he bothering to do this when he _knew_ that she hadn't killed anyone?  If he went along with the Priori Incantatem, he'd just be proven wrong and publicly humiliated, to boot.  What did he have up his sleeve?  Her eyes flickered from Lucius to Fudge to Ollivander and then back to Lucius, and finally to the wand in his hand.  A sudden lurch of terror made its way into her heart.

It wasn't her wand.

From his seat, Flitwick had just had the same realization.

"Objection!" he burst out, rocketing to his feet.  "That is not my client's wand!"

"Overruled, Mr. Flitwick.  She signed a statement declaring that it is, in fact, her wand," Fudge said.

"Statement or not, that is not her wand.  I was her teacher and advisor for three years.  I think I would know!"

"Ms. Snape?" Fudge questioned, his glance flickering to the woman on the stand.

"That is not my wand, Minister," she affirmed, nodding gravely.

"Isn't it convenient that she renounces her ownership of this wand just when it's about to be put to the test?" Lucius mused, his pale eyebrows arching.

"Indeed, Ms. Snape.  I should like to know how your wand was miraculously switched with someone else's while it has been here, securely locked away since the time of your arrest?"  

"Perhaps you should ask your prosecutor," Flitwick said, his voice edged with ice. 

"Enough, Mr. Flitwick!" Fudge barked.  "Please keep your comments professional or you will be held in contempt of this court."

"I will keep my comments professional as long as Mr. Malfoy keeps his behavior towards my client professional."

"Silence, Mr. Flitwick, or you will be spending the evening in the dungeons!"

"I daresay this controversy can be solved very easily," Lucius said after a moment.  "Everyone knows that Mr. Ollivander remembers every single wand he's sold, as well as who it was sold to.  So can you tell us, Mr. Ollivander, if this is the wand you sold to Selena Snape twenty-five years ago?" Lucius demanded, holding the wand in front of the other man's face.

Selena relaxed slightly.  Ollivander had mooned over her and Severus so many years ago…never seen a set of twins with so much potential, he'd said.  It had taken him a long time to find matching wands that suited both of them.  He'd insisted that they have the same wand, because for some reason twins were more likely to turn their wands on each other than normal siblings.  It was just a safety thing.  Plus, having shared a womb, their physical magic was channeled in more or less the same way.  It only made sense for them to have identical wands.  Finally, he'd found a pair of wands in some obscure corner of the shop.  He'd stared at them for a while, frowning.  And then he'd told them to give them a try.

The connection had been instant.  She remembered feeling the hum of power around Severus, and by her brother's wide, amazed eyes, she knew he felt the same from her.  Black polished yew wood with a center of manticore hair…nothing had ever felt so right in her hand.

"I knew they would go eventually," Ollivander had said, smiling a smile that didn't reach his eyes.  She understood now; the type of wand she and Severus had were obviously not known for bringing the user luck, happiness, or prosperity.  Just the opposite, in fact.

"Yes, that's the one."

For a moment, she didn't even realize that Ollivander had spoken.  Then the words set in, and she saw Lucius's lips curl into a cold smile.  Her stomach sunk and she looked to Flitwick.  His mouth was hanging open in shock, and when she touched her mind to his, one word danced between their link like a mantra.

_Imperius__._

"Shall we see the Priori Incantatem, then?" Lucius said, glancing at Fudge.

"Proceed."

Understanding came to her in a rush.  That was Karkaroff's wand.  Lucius had used the Imperius on Ollivander.  And now he was going to do the Priori Incantatem and everyone would think that she'd killed that Muggle…and really, she'd have no way to refute it.  Tears pricked her eyes but she denied them, keeping her glare clear and focused on the cause of all her troubles.  Lucius's smiled broadened.  

 He watched as Ollivander picked up the twin to Karkaroff's wand, walked a few paces from where the other man stood, and turned.  He and Ollivander raised the wands in unison.

_"Priori Incantatem,"_ the wandmaker said softly.  A beam of golden light shot out and met the tip of the wand in Lucius's hand.  Lucius held it steady, watching as a large golden orb traveled along the beam between the wands, sliding like a dewdrop on a spider web.

Then the large orb exploded like a falling raindrop against the tip of Karkaroff's wand.  A green glare made them all shield their eyes – all but Selena, who stared into the piercing emerald light, letting it burn into her retinas.  Soon the distorted form of the wand's last victim began to writhe from the tip.  No more than a minute passed, and the green-tinted form of the gas station attendant tumbled back into existence.

The specter stood up, looking around warily.  He didn't understand the room, the robes, the wands…but he did understand the woman on the stand.  He pointed at her and spoke,

"Beautiful woman…you overpaid."

Confusion crossed the faces of all who were present in the courtroom.  He had spoken in that strange arrangement of Arabic and Russian, and no one understood except for Selena.  Her heart clenched in her chest.  The Muggle knew he was dead, and that was all he cared about?

"I didn't kill you," she said, tears pooling in her eyes.  The Sikh man tilted his turbaned head, regarding her.

"I know."

"Rest in peace," she whispered.  He nodded, and then the emerald spirit evaporated slowly, leaving with a smile on his ghostly face.  There was a moment of sheer silence as the courtroom absorbed the dignity and aplomb of the dead Muggle.

"There, ladies and gentlemen, is your proof," Lucius said quietly, breaking the silence.

"It is proof of another's guilt.  That is _not_ Selena Snape's wand," Flitwick growled.

"We have already been over this, Mr. Flitwick.  You are walking a tightrope, and it continues to get thinner.  One more comment, sir, and you will be held in contempt!" Fudge snapped.

_"Filibus, please stop.  It's useless.  Don't drag yourself down with me.  Concede."_

He jumped slightly as her voice echoed in his head.  His eyes narrowed and flashed with raw determination.  Filibus had won tough cases before, and he wasn't about to give up on this one.

"Give her a Veritaserum!" he demanded, slapping the table with an open palm.  "She would not be able to lie, and if, under the effect of the potion, she said she did not kill that Muggle, then she is innocent!"

"It would be a waste of our resources!" Fudge thundered.  "She signed a contract of ownership for the wand!  Mr. Ollivander has confirmed that it is hers!  And the Priori Incantatem showed that she has used the Killing Curse.  What more do you need, Mr. Flitwick, to see that she is guilty?!"

"I need the Veritaserum!"

"What sort of ploy is this, Mr. Flitwick?" Lucius interrupted.  "It is common knowledge that your client possesses psychic abilities.  Veritaserum has been shown to have sporadic and questionable effects on psychics.  In all likelihood, it wouldn't affect Ms. Snape at all, and she could continue to sow stories of her false innocence to this community!"

"I couldn't have said it better myself, Mr. Malfoy.  I, Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, find the defendant, Ms. Selena Snape, guilty of murder by Unforgivable and two counts of perjury in the highest degree.  She is sentenced to life in Azkaban."  The gavel slammed down, and its sharp crack ripped Selena's soul in two.

Flitwick was staring with his mouth open for what seemed like the tenth time that day.  He looked up at Fudge, who was looking smug with himself.  The bailiffs were already escorting Selena off the stand, and she let them lead her, her head down.  

"How long since you sold out, Fudge?" Flitwick said, his voice dangerously low.  "A week?  A month?  Or were you one of the originals that managed to evade the Aurors?"

"Filibus Flitwick, I hold you in contempt of court!" Fudge shouted, gesturing angrily at the Aurors near the door.  "I sentence you to six months in Azkaban for aiding and abetting a fugitive.  Take him out of my sight!" 

The gavel slammed down one final time, and the trial of Selena Snape was over as quickly as it had begun.

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

Albus Dumbledore got quite a shock as Severus Snape and Hermione Granger tumbled out of his fireplace in rapid succession.  The shock deepened as both of them began to speak at the same time, making their words completely incomprehensible.  Snape whirled around to look at Hermione.  He stared at her for a moment, his mouth working, and then shook his head and returned his attention to Dumbledore.  

"The Ministry – Lucius – switched her wand," Snape said.

"How do you know that?" Dumbledore asked, removing his spectacles to stare pointedly at his Potions Master.  Snape's lips pursed and he looked huntedly around the office for a moment.  Hermione understood; he hadn't told Dumbledore about the other night's encounter with Karkaroff.

"Yesterday afternoon, Igor Karkaroff paid me a visit," Snape admitted.  "Miss Granger was present at the time…we were having a…discussion."

"Through the Floo Network?" Dumbledore questioned.

"Yes."

"Was Hermione seen?"

"No."

Dumbledore relaxed visibly.

"So what did Mr. Karkaroff have to say?"

"Nothing worthy of repetition – that's why I didn't mention it to you.  He only wanted to rub Selena's arrest in my face, and of course warn me to watch my back."

"So then how have you reached this conclusion that her wand was switched?"

Snape quieted once again, and Dumbledore frowned as he noticed that his Potions Master looked decidedly guilty.  He switched his glance to Hermione, knowing that the young Gryffindor would be more than willing to share the night's events.

"He went through the floo connection," she said bluntly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Severus!" Dumbledore almost shouted.  "It could have been a trap!  I cannot believe you would be so careless!"

"Do forgive me for not giving a damn about the consequences," Snape replied icily, his body language radiating fury.  "Perhaps if it was _your_ only remaining family member and twin sister at the mercy of some sick, crazed Death Eater, you might understand."

"Severus, I know that you are frustrated, but you must maintain your rationality!"

"There is none anymore, Albus.  Lucius has crossed the line.  This," he said, raising the wand still clenched tightly in his hand, "is Selena's wand.  I took it from Karkaroff.  Igor Karkaroff had my sister's wand."

"Oh dear," was all Dumbledore could manage.  "Then the Ministry must have Karkaroff's wand."

"I don't understand how that could prove her guilty," Hermione interjected.  "She and Flitwick and the Ministry officials would know.  And don't they need Mr. Ollivander to do a Priori Incantatem?  Mr. Ollivander would know in a second that it wasn't Selena's wand!"

"Unless he was under the Imperius," Snape said quietly, his body slouching.

"And all Fudge would need would be the Priori Incantatem.  He wouldn't be willing to see anything else.  By Merlin, Lucius is clever."

"He had twenty years to plan this, Albus.  Clever is not the word I would assign to it."

"More like obsessive," Hermione muttered, her posture unconsciously mimicking Snape's.  Snape turned toward her, regarding her as if she'd grown another head.  He couldn't believe how…how Slytherin she was in some of her mannerisms.  Usually everything about her screamed Gryffindor, but the more time he spent in her presence, the more he thought there might be a snake in the lion's mane.

"Severus," the Headmaster said suddenly, frowning.  "You have a class right now."

"What of it?  Most of them can't brew a damned thing anyway."

"You would be willing to leave Mr. Longbottom unsupervised in your classroom?" Dumbledore baited him, raising a snow-white eyebrow.

"Merlin!" Snape exclaimed, flying out of his seat.  "Granger, I thought I told you to _stay_ with that boy!"

"What?!  I…" she sputtered indignantly.  "Class hadn't even started and I wasn't going to be left in the dark again!"

"Save your bloody excuses!" he said, grabbing a handful of floo powder.  "Detention tonight at seven.  Now if you'll excuse me I have to save my classroom!"

He was gone with a shout and a pop of the fireplace, and Dumbledore looked at Hermione, expecting to see anger written across her features.  But there was only a badly-suppressed smile.

"Miss Granger, you needn't serve that detention," Dumbledore said, his brows knitting at the contradictory expression on her face.  "Severus was just being---"

"His usual charming self," she finished, the smile breaking out of its confines to brighten her face.

"Am I missing something, Miss Granger?" the Headmaster asked, his tone a tad severe.

"It's just that Professor Snape and I made an agreement," she said, slipping down from her chair.  "I keep Neville from blowing up the school, and I get access to his library during detentions."

The Headmaster stared at her for a moment, surprise and amusement battling for supremacy on his wrinkled face.  Then he laughed, the tones as wonderful and familiar as a wind-chime on a summer day.

"There was a time, Miss Granger, when I would have taken Severus being even minimally kind to a Gryffindor as a sure sign of the apocalypse.  But it seems that you've cracked the exterior, Hermione.  Congratulations.  But I must warn you; he is very mercurial.  His moods are worse than a menopausal witch's."

Hermione could not help laughing at Dumbledore's joke.  For a moment it made her feel as innocent and carefree as she had been during the beginning of first year.  But then she remembered that a friend and a well-loved professor were suffering in Azkaban, and her smile faltered.

"I think," she said at last, contemplating the baubles on Dumbledore's desk much as Selena had on her last visit, "that if I've managed to survive the last four years of him despising me openly, I can handle his mood swings."

"You don't entirely understand, Hermione, and how could you?" Dumbledore sighed.  "Severus often treats his friends worse than his enemies…he is afraid to let anyone get close.  If he feels that you are in too deep, he will try anything to push you away.  Including being downright cruel.  These times ahead are not going to be very kind to him, Hermione.  I highly doubt his good humor will last.  It's a dangerous undertaking, this alliance you have with him."

"What kind of Gryffindor would I be if I backed down now?" Hermione said firmly, her decision already made.  "That's what he expects me to do, and I won't give him the satisfaction."

"Indeed, Hermione," Dumbledore said, twinkling slightly over his spectacles.  "Pity Godric isn't around to meet you…I think you would delight him."

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

Cassius didn't like flying.  Not on a broomstick, not on an airplane – it made no difference.  In fact, if anything, an airplane was worse because it was closed in.  The thought of sitting inside that tiny, cramped cabin breathing stale, recycled air, all the while protected by only a few sheets of steel twenty thousand feet in the sky…

He couldn't control a shudder.  The person nearest to him glanced up from his magazine, concern in his eyes.

"_Vsevo__ choroshevo?"_ the man asked, noticing Cassius's pallor.

"_Da_," he said weakly, nodding.  The man smiled and went back to his magazine.

Cassius closed his eyes and tried to think of other things as he felt the plane rumbling beneath him.  Takeoff was always the worst part.  There were not many Muggle things that he didn't understand, but how a plane stayed aloft when it first left the ground was one of them.  He hadn't flown often, but each time he did, he could not keep the image of the plane lurching and crashing back to the earth out of his mind.

Anything was better than flying.  The Cruciatus was better than flying.  But he had to; there was no other way.  He cursed himself, and not for the first time, for not being able to apparate.  Selena had always assured him that it wasn't because he was a bad or deficient wizard.  Some things, she insisted, just couldn't be done without a wand.  And he had never had a wand.  Selena had been prepared to buy him one around the time of his eleventh birthday, but her family had strictly refused.  They would not stand for the murderer's clone, as they derisively called him, being able to do magic.  She hadn't even tried to make them understand that magical blood could not be denied; wand or not, magic would still come to him.  And it did with time and practice, entirely wandless.  She had taught him patiently, and he could do just about everything.  They'd reached a dead end two years ago with apparition.  He simply couldn't do it.

So he had to fly.  Had to fly if he wanted to see 'Lena alive again.  Yes, he had to fly if he wanted to curse his brother into the next millennium for being a stupid sadistic ass.  The bag on his lap squirmed and mewed, and he reached his hand in to stroke Apollo's soft fur.  Several of the passengers stared at him.  He knew he wasn't supposed to have the cat in the cabin, but he didn't want to leave him behind.  The family neglected Apollo as much as they neglected their unwanted Malfoy relation.

He slipped the cat a bit of food he'd stuffed in his pocket, and Apollo purred appreciatively before settling back down in the bag.  Cassius looked out the window; they were in the air, rising through the clouds.  The ageless cat had managed to distract him enough that the worst moments of takeoff had gone completely unnoticed.

His muscles relaxed.  Now that the most terrifying part was over, he could slip into an uneasy sleep.  He'd need it – it was a long flight, and he knew sleep would be in short supply once he made it to Hogwarts.  Cassius unbuckled his seatbelt and reclined, throwing an arm over his eyes to drown out the light.  Within minutes he was out, lulled to sleep by the hum of the engines and the warm weight of Apollo resting on his chest.

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

_He wandered down a long, immaculately polished hallway, his hair sticking in several directions and his brain still fogged with the stupor of sleep.  He found the door to his mother's room instinctively, his small hand turning the gilded knob.  In his half-awakened state, he misjudged the doorframe and wound up bumping his shoulder against it, throwing him off balance.  He flailed on one foot for a moment, grabbing the night table to steady himself.  He heard his mother chuckle at him, and moved blindly towards her voice.  _

_"What's the matter, Cass?" she asked, pulling her youngest son into her lap._

_"Wanna glass of water," he mumbled, rubbing his eye in a cripplingly cute gesture.  "Is Lu-Lu home yet?"_

_"Not yet," Helen replied softly.  She smiled at the nickname as she laid the little boy down on her bed and called a house elf to bring up a glass of water.  Lucius had become a lot like his father in some ways.  He generally didn't tolerate silliness, and yet he never minded when Cassius referred to him as 'Lu-Lu' or 'Lucy'.  He indulged his little brother, acting more like a doting father than an older sibling.  Cassius got so excited when he heard that his big brother was coming home that he refused to go to bed until Lucius could tuck him in._

_"He's late," Cassius sulked, frowning into the glass as he sipped._

_"He probably went to the Snape's first.  He'll be home soon," Helen comforted.  The boy's eyes lit up at the mention of his big brother's girlfriend and best friend._

_"When are Selena and Severus going to visit again?  Severus gave me a potion that made my bath water turn into green goo last time!!!  And Selena flew me to the top of the willow tree!!!  Could they come with Lu-Lu next time he comes home from school?  Please?"_

_"Ask your brother when he gets here," she replied.  Cassius smiled ear to ear and returned his attention to his water.  A minute later, he spoke again, his innocent, sleep-flushed face set in a look of concentration._

_"Mum, do you think Lu-Lu will marry Selena?"_

_Helen blinked, somewhat taken aback by the question._

_"I don't know, dear.  It's up to Lucius," she answered._

_"But do you think he loves her?"_

_Just as he asked, they heard the door open downstairs.  Cassius leaped up off the bed and was prepared to peel out of the room when the voice of his father echoed up the stairwell._

_"Lucius."___

_Helen caught Cassius by the back of his pajamas and hauled the seven-year-old back into the room.  She knew that tone of voice; it was not wise to interrupt when Marius Malfoy spoke so coldly._

_"Mum!" Cassius squeaked indignantly._

_"Not now, dear," she whispered, holding his squirming body against her.  "I think Daddy's angry."_

_Her son ceased struggling, seeming to deflate against her._

_"Why?  Lu-Lu didn't do anything wrong…"_

_Helen hugged him, rubbing his back.  How could she make the boy understand that Marius's behavior was no longer predictable?  He'd changed in the last six months, and she no longer knew what would make him angry and what wouldn't.  One didn't necessarily have to do anything to provoke his temper anymore._

_Against her better judgment, Helen put her finger to her lips to indicate that Cassius should be quiet and then beckoned the little boy forward.  Cassius understood and followed her silently down the hallway, his hand unconsciously clutching the hem of her nightgown._

_"…I don't know what your problem is, but it's late, I'm tired, and this isn't how I expected to be welcomed home," Lucius was saying, his voice strained.  Helen could tell he was trying to be patient and escape his father before a real confrontation began._

_"You do not walk away from your father when he wishes to speak with you!" Marius thundered._

_"You can speak with me in the morning," Lucius ground out._

_"In case you didn't notice, it IS morning," Marius shot back, more and more anger seeping into his tone with every word._

_"Look, it's not like I haven't stopped by the Snapes' before!  We went out.  Maybe I should have flooed, but I thought you'd expect me to want to spend time with my girlfriend since I won't be seeing her for a week!"_

_"So you'd rather spend time with a half-breed slut and her sullen brother than your own family?" Marius demanded._

_            Helen stifled a shocked gasp from her vantage point at the top of the stairs.  Cassius's eyes went wide; he didn't know exactly what his father meant, but could tell that it was something bad._

_            "Don't talk about her like that," Lucius snarled, his voice rising dangerously.  "The Snapes are purebloods, and besides that, they're my friends!   I won't stand for you calling either of them such horrible names!" _

_            "So your plaything never told you.  The Snapes WERE purebloods, up until this most recent generation.  Your little girlfriend's mother is a Muggle."_

_            "And where did you hear that?" Lucius spat.  The hostility in his voice was almost palpable; he knew very well that his father spent many of his nights at work for the Dark Lord._

_            "It's the truth, Lucius.  Think about it.  You've met her Mother, haven't you?  Do you remember ever seeing her perform magic?"_

_            There was a horrible, awful silence._

_"No…" Helen murmured, her hand going over her mouth._

_"Mum?" Cassius whispered, his hands curling around her wrist. _

_The silence stretched.  Helen could hear Cassius's soft breathing, her own heart pounding in her chest, and the crackle of the fire downstairs.  This couldn't be happening.  It wasn't that she cared about the purity of Selena's blood; she didn't care at all.  But she knew that Lucius was, in fact, in love with Selena Snape.  He'd come to her not even a week before, looking and sounding slightly flustered and asking if she knew of any family heirloom that would be a suitable engagement ring.  She remembered the ridiculous smile that had come to her face and how embarrassed and awkward Lucius had been.  Helen had promised to look through her jewelry to find the perfect ring._

_"What's happening, Mum?" Cassius whispered in a tiny, quavering voice.  She didn't answer, but gathered the boy in her arms and hugged him tightly.  Her thoughts continued to race, stilled only when Lucius spoke again._

_"I don't care," he said simply, his voice soft but confident.  "I love her."_

_"Well that's all fine and good, Lucius, but don't plan on seeing her again.  I forbid you from associating with the Snapes."_

_Cassius started in her arms, twisting around to look at his mother in horror.  She shook her head, holding back tears.  It would do no good to let Cass see her cry; that would only alarm him more.  There was no doubt in her mind that Voldemort had put Marius up to this.  In the Dark Wizard's view, it didn't reflect well upon a father or a family for the eldest son (who should have taken the Dark Mark by now) to be willingly associating (and sleeping) with a half-blood.  Voldemort had probably subtly hinted (with five or six bouts of the Cruciatus) that he wasn't happy with that situation, and he wanted it remedied.  And now here Marius was, attempting to destroy his firstborn son's relationship with the woman he loved._

_"Forbid all you want," Lucius answered.  "It won't stop me."_

_Helen was amazed by the calmness her son was displaying; she knew she would have been in hysterics if forced to choose between her family and the person she loved.  _

_"You will obey me, or I will force you to obey me," Marius threatened._

_"I can cast the Imperius just as well as you, Father," was the calm reply._

_Helen's heart lurched at those words.  Merlin, don't let this escalate to spells, or worse, blows…_

_"You have until the Christmas holidays to completely sever all ties with the Snapes.  There will be consequences if you resist me, Lucius.  Mark my words."_

_Lucius didn't reply.  Instead, there was a shuffle of boots and cloaks and the sound of footsteps moving back towards the entryway.  A moment later Lucius came into view at the bottom of the stairs.  He looked up, knowing that at least his mother was probably there listening._

_"I told you not to walk away from me, Lucius."_

_"Goodbye, Father," he replied, smiling up at his mother and little brother._

_"Lu-Lu!"__ Cassius cried, wrenching away from Helen and running down the stairs.  Lucius scooped him up and hugged him tightly.  "Don't leave!" the little boy pleaded, clutching his robes._

_"It'll only be for a little while," Lucius said, setting Cassius back down and crouching to look him in the eye.  "Everything will be ok.  Now go back up to Mum, all right?"_

_Cassius nodded, put on a brave face, and climbed back up the stairs.__  He settled back into Helen's waiting arms and stared down at his brother, who had suddenly become a hundred times bigger and more incredible in his mind._

_"Love you," Lucius mouthed, offering a sad smile.  Helen nodded, tears threatening to spill once again.  And then the door opened and shut, and her eldest son was gone._

_"Cassius, I want you to go to your room and go to bed," Helen whispered, standing.  "You stay in there until morning, all right?"_

_"Why?"_

_"Just do what I say, Cass.  Please," she begged, ushering the boy towards his room._

_"Mum…" he whimpered as he was herded into the large, ornate, and decidedly lonely room._

_"I'm sorry, honey.  Please."_

_"Ok," the boy whispered, blinking tears out of his huge blue eyes and turning to walk solemnly to his bed._

_"We'll go find Lucius after breakfast, I promise," Helen whispered.  Cassius nodded and climbed into bed, pulling the blankets up to his chin.  She blew a kiss to him and pulled the door closed, ensuring that it was locked with a wave of her wand.  Then she hurried back to her room, her heart pounding as she heard Marius's footsteps approaching the stairs._

_He was quicker than she had expected, and caught her standing by the wardrobe when he entered the room.  She didn't even try to draw her wand; he was faster, and it would only make him infinitely more furious if she cast a spell on him.  Marius didn't bother with magic.  He simply crossed the room, took her by the shoulders, and heaved her onto the bed.  Helen tried not to cringe as his substantial weight crushed her into the firm mattress._

_"Now where do you suppose he learned that?" Marius hissed, his nose an inch from hers.  "I certainly didn't teach him that kind of insolence."_

_Helen said nothing, simply staring back into his smoldering eyes.  These outbursts were common now, and she'd learned that the less she fought, the less inclined he was to really hurt her.  If she was submissive, there was a good chance that all he would do was hit her a few times and accuse her of sympathizing with the mudbloods and half-breeds and squibs._

_"You filled his head with these ridiculous ideas of marriage," Marius growled.  "I heard the two of you earlier in the week.  Are you trying to sully the Malfoy blood?"_

_"I didn't know," she whispered, daring to speak._

_"Don't act daft with me, Helen!" he thundered.  She flinched before his hand even fell across her cheek, knowing instinctively that the blow was coming.  She stifled a cry as the force and sting of his thick palm made stars explode behind her eyelids.  Suddenly his weight was gone.  She could only lay on the bed and try to right her spinning world._

_"At least," Marius said, his voice cold, "I still have one son who is not corrupted by the softhearts of our society.  He will learn to obey his father."_

_Helen's eyes widened and she stumbled out of the bed, her feet catching in her nightgown and tripping her.___

_"Marius, no!" she pleaded, ignoring the pain in the arm she had fallen on.  But he was already out the door, and he slammed it behind him.  She felt the wards as he put them in place and looked around desperately for her wand.  It was not on the wardrobe where she'd left it.  He had taken her wand.  She was locked in this room until he decided to let her out._

_Helen pressed up against the door, listening for his footsteps.  She prayed to all that was holy that he was going somewhere else or that he would be stopped by the weak wards she had placed on Cassius's door.  She couldn't hold back the tears anymore.  Helen didn't care what Marius did to her; he hadn't always been this way, and she loved him in spite of his violent servitude to the Dark Lord.  But if he hurt Cassius, Merlin help her…_

_She felt the magic around her son's door dissipate and sank down onto the floor in a boneless heap._

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

Cassius jerked awake with a strangled gasp.  There was a weight on top of him, something on his chest, and his arm flailed reflexively to try to push it off.  It was only when he heard Apollo's affronted yowl that he realized that it had been a dream.

He hadn't even the strength to lean down and pick up the bristling cat.  His heart was beating too fast, his hands too shaky…the cold sweat of fear made his clothes stick to him.  Apollo seemed to understand, though; he'd seen it all before.  The white feline jumped onto the seat next to him and then scooted into his lap.

"Sorry, old friend," he murmured, his voice quivering.  His answer was a soft mew and a nuzzle against his clammy hand.

"Sir?" a feminine voice asked.  He could not help jumping when a hand descended on his shoulder.  "Sir, are you all right?"

He turned his head and looked into the stewardess's concerned face.  She was pretty, the typical fair Irish beauty, and she looked genuinely worried over his condition.  Cassius swallowed and mopped at his brow with his sleeve.

"I'm all right," he said, his blue eyes flickering skittishly to her green ones.  "Don't like flying…"

"I'll get you something to drink," she said, handing him a pile of napkins.  "Would you like anything in particular?"

"Surprise me," he replied, patting at the perspiration still beaded on his face.  She nodded, giving his shoulder a sympathetic squeeze, and disappeared.

As soon as she was gone, he cradled his head in his hands.  He hadn't had a nightmare that vivid, that terrifying, or on that topic in years.  He'd been so far away from it all, nestled in the disarrayed heart of Russia.  He could almost forget that he'd had any family before Selena, before the stern, sun-weathered Chechnyans.  But now he was going home…going back to everything he'd lost.  And, to be honest, he didn't really want it back.

There were too many memories.  Although he'd only lived in Malfoy Manor for eight short years of his life, the events of the last year were enough to make bile rise in his throat.

_I'm doing you a favor, Cassius.  You don't want to turn out like your brother, do you?_

A cold shiver danced up his spine.  His father – no, Marius…he had no positive feelings for the man anymore – had said that to him on three specific occasions.  The first time it had just been a beating.  A bad one, but nothing a mediwitch couldn't heal.  The second time…he'd never forget that.  It wasn't so much the physical pain that had made it hurt so much; it was more the betrayal, the disbelief.  He'd never thought a father could do that to his own son.  Reality had proved him wrong.  The third time…well, that's when everything had gone to shit.  He understood now that Marius had snapped, lost his mind.  Thankfully he'd been so numb and destroyed by the Cruciatus that he barely remembered what had taken place the night his family was destroyed.

The plain fact was that he _DID _want to turn out like his brother, at least the person his brother had been before that third encounter.  He knew that someone had done something to Lucius to make him the way he was now.  Lucius really wasn't himself.  He acted so much like Marius now…the cold eyes, intimidating, regal bearing, the Dark Mark on his arm…exactly the behavior he had come to loathe from his own father during his seventh year at Hogwarts.  What had changed his brother, the person he'd idolized most in the world in his childhood?

He supposed that once again, it could be attributed to Voldemort.  There wasn't a single person in the world that the Dark Lord couldn't affect.  But why, oh why, had he gone after Lucius?  He'd never uttered a word about his father's allegiance, never passed judgment on the man.  In fact, Cassius would go so far as to say that he'd loved his father, at least until Marius had driven the wedge of Selena's origins between them.

He'd never known why Lucius had changed, but he supposed that now he had the time and the resources to figure it out.  He would bring back his real brother, Merlin help him…if there was anything of the real Lucius left.  

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

Lucius Malfoy had a migraine.  The throbbing pain hadn't really gone away since his encounter with Selena; it had ebbed and flowed, but it was always there.  He should have been celebrating right now, but the pain had escalated so much after the trial that he could scarcely do more than sit in his chair before the fireplace and endure it.

He'd already cleaned out their supply of headache potions.  He would have to floo Severus tomorrow for more.  That would be pleasant…he grimaced as he thought of dealing with Potions Master.  Severus wouldn't be too excited to see him, he supposed.  A smug smile broke out across his face.  He'd finally done it.  He'd finally gotten his revenge, and it was no skin off his nose.  Lucius Malfoy, as always, was unscathed.

Or was he?

He'd fallen asleep a few hours ago, nestled in the chair.  Narcissa had thrown a blanket over him at some point, knowing (as a wife probably would) that he was not entirely himself.  In general, he didn't dream often, and if he did, it was lost in the few minutes of ether between sleeping and waking.  But this time…he felt like he was under the influence of some mind-altering drug.  He'd smoked hashish once at a Revel, and the way his mind reeled from the pungent fumes had been both sickening and exhilarating.  It was exactly the same sensation he'd jerked awake from not three hours before.

Hundreds of indistinct images bombarded him, the colors bright and garish like slashes of paint.  He knew that some of them were familiar, but he was always just beyond recognition.  There were sounds, too, half-muffled cries and epitaphs that almost made sense but slipped away from him the instant he opened his eyes.  He felt like there was a dam inside his brain and cracks were beginning to show in it.  Whatever Selena had done to him, it had unmoored something within his mind.

Perhaps it was temporary.  Perhaps it would fade with time.  But somehow he doubted it; it was simply too poignant, too invasive.  He could only hope it wouldn't interfere with his service to the Dark Lord or his position in the Ministry.  He frowned to himself, not satisfied with leaving it at that.  On second thought, he was sure he could find a way to make her fix it.  

She'd do anything for Severus…wouldn't she?  

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

"Don't ever follow me like that again," was the first thing out of Snape's mouth when she entered his office for her detention.  "Of all the people to follow blindly…are you trying to get yourself killed?" he continued, his tone just short of cruel.

"I wasn't thinking," Hermione said defensively, slightly wounded.

"That much is obvious."

"You should talk," she fired back.  "Dumbledore was right, you could have gotten yourself killed!"

"I didn't ask you to care about my welfare.  I asked you to watch the Longbottom boy so I could concentrate on other things."

"It's not like you were doing anything dangerous.  You were just going to see Dumbledore."

"Yes, this time.  But you see, I've found that foolhardy Gryffindors such as yourself form habits rather quickly.  I have enough to worry about without you getting caught up in it!"

"I wouldn't be that stupid."

"Right," he snorted, slashing at an unfortunate student's essay with his quill.  "And Sirius Black is innocent."

Hermione bit her tongue.  There was no use in arguing with him over that one; he hated Sirius, and whether he was innocent or not, he would probably always be the perfect example of Gryffindor idiocy in Snape's mind.

"So are you finished yelling at me?" Hermione asked, taking a seat in front of the cross Potions Master.

"Has anyone ever told you that you are quite cheeky, Miss Granger?" he replied, his quill moving busily as he destroyed another essay.

"I give what I get," she replied flippantly, standing and walking over to peruse his bookshelves.  She could almost feel the raise of his eyebrows, and for a moment the scratch of his quill stopped.  Hermione kept her eyes focused on the spines of the books, her finger running down each title.  The scratch of his quill resumed, and she spared a second to feel slightly superior – and yet, somewhat unnerved – by his silence.  She forced herself to focus on the books; there were so many that she'd like to curl up with.  Unfortunately, they were in several different languages; six, at least.  English, French, Russian, Latin, Greek, and Arabic, to name a few.  She thought she even spotted one in Hebrew.

"Do you speak all these languages?" she couldn't stop herself from asking.

"No," was the terse reply.

"Do you speak anything besides English and Russian?"

The scratching of his quill stopped again.

"How did you know I spoke Russian?" he asked in that soft, dangerous tone he tended to use when he questioned someone and knew they hadn't a clue what the answer was.

Hermione opened her mouth and then shut it.  Well, shit on a shingle.  Let him figure it out himself.  And he did a second later, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"You were in the Infirmary under that bloody cloak, weren't you."

"Well, you didn't honestly expect us to pass up such an opportunity, did you?" she replied weakly, shrugging and cringing at the same time.  This could be bad; she didn't think Snape would take kindly to the fact that she – and worse, Harry and Ron – had been spying on him.

He sighed and put down his quill, lifting his hands to massage his temples.

"Take a book and get out," he said at last, raising a hand to point at the door.

She cursed inwardly.  If only she had thought before speaking…

"Kindly hurry up, Miss Granger," he prompted coldly.

She sighed and picked a rather thick book on Elemental Magic.  Tucking it under her arm, she walked towards the door.  She stopped hesitantly, her hand unconsciously toying with the doorknob.

"For what it's worth," she said cautiously, not looking at him, "I'm sorry.  Sneaking around is the only way to know what's really happening here…and everywhere, really."

"Ignorance is bliss, Miss Granger."

"And perhaps the truth hurts, but would you – or anyone, for that matter – be the same person if you'd known everything that went on under this roof?"

"Accept the sheltering while you can, Miss Granger.  You'll find that reality is increasingly unpleasant.  Good day."

She knew a dismissal when she heard one, especially coming from Snape.  She sighed and left him to his sulking.  The wide corridors were drafty and deserted, and she clutched the book to her chest to ward off the chill.  Hermione walked quickly through the dungeons and up to more hospitable levels of the castle, hoping to avoid any Slytherin lowlife that might want to ruin her evening.  

It seemed to be a pattern now; each time she left Snape's office, her mind was buzzing with more and more questions.  Spending time with the man really was a mental workout; her brain never felt as taxed as it had this last week or so.  And he didn't just leave her questioning herself; he left so many permutations in her mind, so many things she had never bothered to think of before.  She supposed he was testing her in a way, seeing if she really was his intellectual equal.

_Ignorance is bliss._

Was it?  Hermione shook her head.  No, she decided, as she held onto the railing of one of the staircases as it switched on her.  Ignorance was bliss only in hindsight, and Lord knew Snape had plenty of that. 

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

Severus was bent over the one Hebrew tome he had, frowning as he moved his finger right to left along the lines of text.  It was amazing how easy it was to forget such an underused language.  He'd had to pause too many times already, working the characters out in his mind.  A few times he'd simply moved on, unable to recall or decipher a particular word.  It was frustrating; he could remember a time when reading Hebrew was as easy as reading English.  It annoyed him that his abilities had deteriorated so much.

Then again, he only had this one book, and as it was not a magic or potions text, he didn't read it often.  He didn't really know what had prompted him to read it now.  It's not like the Torah would put him in a better mood.  In fact, it would probably make it worse.  It reminded him of his mother, if nothing else.  She was the reason he knew Hebrew in the first place.  She was – had been, he corrected himself – Jewish.  And in the years before Hogwarts, she'd taken it upon herself to teach him her roots.  Not Selena, of course; in those days, she could never be pinned down for more than a half hour, the complete opposite of her quiet, patient, studious brother.  But he'd enjoyed those calm hours with his mother, hunched over books and listening to her melodious voice read the esoteric language to him.  It was one of the only memories of her he could call up easily, but he didn't linger there often.  One memory triggered others, and they all ended in pain, suffering, and misery.

He closed the book gently, even reverently.  He couldn't concentrate, not in this state of mind.  Snape gave up the fight and pondered what he'd said to Hermione.  All of it was true, every last word.  He wished desperately that someone had told him those things so many years ago.  And yet, at the same time, the girl was right.  If he'd known everything back then, known every last detail about what went on at Hogwarts, he _would_ be a different person.  He didn't know exactly what would have changed, but Severus Snape would not have turned out to be cranky and alone, stuck with a brand that every day reminded him how stupid he was.

As if on cue, the Dark Mark flared to life.  His teeth clenched at the burning agony, his fingers curling and uncurling as he rode out the pain.  The night just kept getting better and better…

He sighed and made his way to his personal chambers.  Thick, voluminous robes were donned in place of his frockcoat mechanically, his wand going up one sleeve and several useful potions going up the other.  His hand sought the cool curvature of his mask and he tucked it into an interior pocket over his heart, ironically.  Fresh bile rose in the back of his throat, but he choked it down.  It wasn't anxiety or fear; he'd learned to ignore those things long ago.  It was disgust.  In addition to all the other despicable things he'd have to witness and possibly participate in tonight, he'd have to see Malfoy, and…ugh…he'd have to act _civil_ towards him.  The darker part of his mind wondered, just for a second, what it would be like to see Malfoy treated like one of the Death Eaters' victims.

Automatically, he threw a handful of floo powder into his fireplace and, without even waiting for Dumbledore to answer, said very simply,

"Albus, I'm going."

And then he was gone in a flourish of black robes, making his way to a secret passage that not even the Marauder's Map revealed.  It brought him out onto the long, sloping lawn near the Forbidden Forest.  He jogged towards the gate, opening and refastening it with a flick of his wand.  With one deft move, the mask was over his face.  He checked himself quickly as he always did, making sure he had everything he could possibly need for this insane charade.  Then he wasted no time apparating; the Dark Lord's time window fluctuated with every meeting, and he had no desire to immediately put himself in Voldemort's bad graces.

Apparating without direction was, as always, somewhat disorienting.  As he blinked to clear his spinning head, he noticed with some relief that he had arrived with most of the others.  He blended in quickly, saying his perfunctory hellos to Avery and McNair, all the while scanning the area for Lucius.  He wasn't here yet, it seemed.  Perhaps he'd get the satisfaction of Voldemort punishing Malfoy for his tardiness.

He moved on to make idle small talk with Nott, busily taking in whatever details he could about their location.

"So," he heard himself asking, "any idea what's on the agenda for tonight?"

Nott jerked his head towards the makeshift altar upon which Voldemort stood impassively.  There was a chain in the pale, slender hand, and it was attached to a collar around the throat of a protectively huddled individual, a male from what he could tell.  Bugger it all…it was going to be that kind of night.

"My loyal servants," Voldemort began, his thin, seedy voice slicing through the cool night air.  The masked group quieted immediately, turning to watch their Master.  "Tonight we have a…class reunion of sorts.  Our _guest_," he enunciated, jerking the chain harshly, "is someone that many of you may remember from your own school days.  He is also a leading member of the Old Fool's resistance.  Through him, I daresay we'll show them what happens to those who resist me."

A cheer rose through the crowd, which, to Severus, looked a bit larger than it usually did.  Fabulous…the Dark Lord was gaining supporters.  He watched disinterestedly as Voldemort wrenched the chain again, pulling the man's head up and back so the crowd could see his face.  Severus had never been more grateful for the cover of the mask than at that moment, because he lost all control over his facial expressions.

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

It was Lupin.  Remus Lupin.

A/N – I know, I know, evil cliffie!!!  This chapter drove me crazy…I hope you like it.  And come on, I KNOW I'm not the only one who thinks "JEWISH NOSE!" whenever Snape is described.  And yes, I am an awful person for perpetuating stereotypes, lol.  It's two in the morning and I have class at eight so I'm out like a fat kid in dodgeball. 


	14. Mistress of the Dementors

Severus hardly processed the excited murmur that went up around him.  Almost everyone there recognized the chained man.  Of course, almost everyone there was Slytherin; they all lusted after the chance to get even with a Gryffindor thorn-in-the-side like Lupin.  Years ago, Severus would have relished this…he would have been the cruelest of Lupin's torturers.  But now he bit down an incredible wave of anger as the altar was lit and it became obvious that the werewolf's captors had already had a bit of 'fun' with him.  

Either that, or…yes, the pattern of slashes on his chest suggested claws.  When had the last moon been?  Severus squinted, running the nights back in his mind.  Yes…two nights ago, he remembered staring at the full moon through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall.  He'd even spared Lupin a fleeting thought, something like, _I wonder if that damned werewolf remembered to drink his bloody Wolfsbane..._

So Lupin was weak.  He was always weak right after the transformations.  That still didn't explain how he'd been captured, though.  He should have been in a secure location.  As much as Severus hated to compliment the man, Remus was a master of Defense Against the Dark Arts.  No Death Eater should have been able to follow him, let alone capture him, even in the weakened state the Wolfsbane potion left him in.

So how had this whole horrifyingly ridiculous situation come to be?  Severus bit his lip and exhaled as Voldemort raised a broad, bony hand and backhanded Lupin.  The half-naked man went over with the force of it, and the snap of his nose was quite audible.  Lupin's face contorted in pain as blood began to spill, both from his nose and the wounds across his chest that had reopened with the awkward fall.

A moment later, Snape's hatred of Peter Pettigrew came full-circle.  Wormtail stepped forward, lifted a booted foot, and kicked Lupin in the face.  A cold spear of ire impaled Snape's belly; it was one thing for a Slytherin rival to injure Lupin in such a way, but Pettigrew…before his corruption, he'd been one of Remus's closest friends.  And now he looked down on him as if he were trash, nothing more than seagull dung on a forgotten shore littered with garbage and hypodermic needles.  Such hypocrisy was one of the things that Severus hated most in the world, and he vowed that before this war was over, he'd kill Peter Pettigrew.  If not for himself, then for Lupin.  And what the hell…even for James and Lily Potter.

"So, my servants!" Voldemort thundered, jerking the bloodied Lupin to his feet.  "Who would like to be the first to have a bit of fun with our dear friend?"

Severus cringed as McNair elbowed his way to the front of the overexcited group.  Not McNair, anyone but that beefy torturer…he was absolutely brutal and harbored the most blatantly obvious homosexual tendencies of _anyone_ within the Death Eaters.  Lupin was probably a wet dream to someone like McNair.

Fuck fuck fuck.  His mind repeated it like a mantra.  

What in the nine hells was he going to do?

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

Harry nearly screamed as he realized that there really was something cold and wet rubbing against his hand, and it wasn't a dream.  He jerked awake violently, banging his head on the headboard in his panic.  It was only when his eyes adjusted that he saw the outline of the familiar black dog at his bedside.

"Snuffles?" he whispered.

A small whimper was his answer, and he frowned.  He gestured for the dog to come up on the bed, but he didn't move.  He just whined.

Harry reached for his wand and cast a quick silencing spell around his bed.  Then he asked hesitantly,

"Sirius?"

            It was then that the dog attempted to lift its front paws onto the bed, and Harry was shocked and frightened when the animal's legs went out and he fell to the cold stone floor in a shaking heap.

            "Sirius!" he repeated, his voice sharp with alarm, as he knelt to pick up the massive dog.  He hefted his godfather onto his bed, and it was only then that he saw the blood that caked the canine's sleek fur.

            "Sweet Merlin, Sirius, what happened?" Harry demanded, watching as the dog lengthened into the lanky man he knew.  Fear gripped the heart of The Boy Who Lived as he watched his godfather's chest rise and fall in shallow wheezes.  Sirius's right shoulder was marred by deep, parallel slashes that raked over his collarbone and down to his sternum.  They were an angry, inflamed red, both with swelling and dried blood.  Further down, vivid against his ribs, was a rainbowed bruise.  And further still, his left thigh was traversed by even deeper slashes, and his knee was so swollen that Harry wouldn't even have known where to look to find his kneecap.

            "Oh my God…" he heard Ron's voice behind him.  "Harry, I heard a bang, and…"

            "Get Pomfrey, Ron.  Hurry!"

            Ron nodded, his eyes still wide and haunted from Sirius's battered appearance, and sprinted out of the dormitory.

            "Sirius," Harry pleaded, leaning over his feverish godfather.  "Sirius, please, can you tell me anything?"

            The pale man's face twisted with pain, but his lips moved.

            "The potion," he wheezed, his body shaking from the effort.  Lips bluish from chill quivered and his teeth chattered; Sirius was going into shock.  "Snape…he…poisoned…"

            He got nothing else from his godfather; the dark eyes rolled back and his body was beset by shivers.  Harry did the only thing he could think of.  He remembered a Muggle show he'd watched a few times when he couldn't sleep.  In the late hours of the night, the Dursleys couldn't bother him.   Thank heaven they were heavy sleepers.  _ER_, it had been called.  An American show about a hospital.  When someone was going into shock, you wrapped them up in blankets.  Kept them warm.  He thanked Merlin for the fictional Dr. Green and piled his and Ron's blankets over Sirius, praying that Ron wouldn't be stopped by anyone on his way to the Infirmary.

            *                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

            Ron was almost halfway to the Infirmary when Filch stepped into his path.  He nearly ran the scraggly man over, but managed to dodge him at the last moment.  Unfortunately, Filch's hand shot out and caught him by the back of his shirt, stopping him in his tracks.

            "A Weasley out after dark.  What a surprise," the groundskeeper rasped, pulling Ron about.

            "It's not what you think!" Ron practically shouted.  "Someone's hurt!"

            "Sure, Weasley, sure.  I think we should go have a chat with your Head of House, don't you?"

            "I have to get to the Infirmary!" Ron begged.  Gods be damned, couldn't the stupid man see that this wasn't a joke?

            "You'll need to, after McGonagall chews you out," Filch chuckled, propelling Ron down the hallway with an unyielding grip.

            "This isn't a joke, Filch!  Someone's dying!  I'm serious!  Let me go!"

            "Shut up, Weasley."

            Ron did the only thing he could.  He set his feet on the floor, took a deep breath, and screamed at the top of his lungs.

            *                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

            Minerva McGonagall had been acting like her star student, sitting up in the library until all hours.  Now she was slowly making her way back to her rooms, laden with books.  Truth be told, her upcoming trip to Azkaban was making her nervous.  She'd never been there, and had no desire to ever go.  She had almost every book on the infamous wizard prison that the library had to offer.  If she had to infiltrate it, she might as well be familiar with it.

            She was actually still reading, even as she walked.  It wasn't like she had to worry about knocking into anyone, and her feet knew the route immaculately after almost thirty years within the walls of Hogwarts.

            However, her stroll was interrupted when a familiar scream echoed down the corridor.  It was high-pitched, ear-splittingly loud…she'd heard that scream on more than one occasion.  Ronald Weasley.  

            The scream came again, and she dropped all the books in the middle of the hallway.  Maternal instinct easily differentiated a simple cry from a real, genuine scream.  Weasley was in trouble.

            She drew her wand and broke into a run, wondering what in the hell could be causing one of her students to cry out with such fear and desperation in a darkened hallway in the middle of the night.

            *                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

            Autopilot was a useful thing.  Never before had Severus been so glad that there was a part of him that could act without emotion, that could be totally detached from the realities of a situation.  He would never make it without that split personality; without it, this spying would have killed him long ago.

            He reached into his sleeve and took out one of the more useful potions.  If he couldn't stop this from happening to Lupin, he could at least ease his pain a bit.  He lifted his hand as if he was adjusting his mask and subtly slipped something like what the Muggles referred to as a 'geltab' under his tongue.  He didn't give two shits what Malfoy would think, and it would make perfect sense for the misfit Severus Snape to want to get back at one of the Marauders that had made his schooling miserable.

            He moved past the throng and ahead of McNair with a flick of his wand.  The aforementioned Death Eater went flying into a nearby tree, and everyone backed up.  Most of them had seen Snape pissed off in the past, the very distant past, and it was still enough to evoke a certain fear.

            "Severus!" Voldemort said as if he was inviting him for afternoon tea.  "Don't worry, my boy, you'll get the first crack at him.  After all, it's been so long since you really enjoyed yourself at one of our little gatherings.  I should have known it would take one of these sniveling Gryffindors to draw you out of your shell."

            "May I, my Lord?" Snape asked, bowing deeply.

            *                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

            Narcissa blew out an agitated breath through pursed lips.  No change.  Her husband was still laid out on their bed, his eyes vacant and his cheeks flushed.  She had already tried Pepperup potion; it had done nothing.  He was still weak and feverish and incoherent.

            In all the years she'd spent with Lucius, he'd never gotten sick.  Not once, not even so much as a cold.  So what in the name of Merlin was wrong with him now?

            She bit her lip.  It was clear that he was in no condition to be attending the Revel that was scheduled for eleven tonight.  A glance at the clock told her that she had two hours to find some way to cover for his absence.

            Narcissa paced nervously, glancing over at Lucius every now and then when a moan or a fragment of a sentence would make it past his parched lips.  She didn't understand much of anything that had come out of his mouth since the house elves had found him passed out on the floor in front of the fireplace.

            But back to her original focus.  Lucius wasn't going anywhere, but she couldn't go to the Revel alone.  They did have a store of pre-made Polyjuice potions, one for each Malfoy in case any of them ever needed to be in two places at once.  But who could she trust to play Lucius for the evening?

            Her mind flickered to Karkaroff, the man who'd been cowering in the basement for almost a week now.  But no…she didn't trust him, she didn't like him, and even if he did look like Lucius, she sure as hell didn't want him touching her.

            Then the idea came to her, and she could have kicked herself for not thinking of it sooner.  She performed a quick Glamourie spell on herself just in case, took a deep breath, and apparated.

            *                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

            "Draco!  Draco!  Draco Tiberius Malfoy, wake up!"

            The urgent, strangely familiar whisper cut through his dreams, and Draco blinked, completely disoriented.

            "Huh?  Wha…"

            "Draco, hurry up and get your lazy bones out of bed!"

            He sat up, his face clouded with sleep and confusion.

            "Mum?" he asked slowly, not understanding.

            "Yes, now let's go."

            And before he knew it he was being yanked out of bed without explanation.

            "Mum, what the….I don't even have shoes on…"

            She snorted, shoving his wand into his hand.

            "You don't need them, now shut up and come with me."

            Draco could only wonder how and why his mother had gotten into Hogwarts in the middle of the night as she dragged him through the corridors and out onto the great, sloping lawn.

            *                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

            Severus was astonished at how thin Lupin was up close.  He could have counted his ribs…probably even fit a whole finger in the spaces between them.  Gods, didn't he eat?  He knew Lupin was poor, he always had been…but there was no reason for him to look this fragile.  The transformation certainly burned a lot of fat off him, but he looked like a victim of famine.

            He felt a pang of conscience as Voldemort handed him the chain.  He jerked it hard, no doubt biting into already irksome bruises and lacerations.  He had to make this look convincing.

            Lupin was on his knees, the chain tightened so that he had to look up at the still-masked Death Eater in front of him.  The werewolf's eyes were glassy but still blazing with determination, the amber-flecked irises bright in the firelight.  That small defiance wouldn't do Lupin any good; it would only make the Death Eaters more inclined to hurt him.

            Severus lifted a hand to remove his mask.  It hit the floor with a clatter, and Lupin's face contorted with anger and hatred.

            "Snape," he hissed through his teeth.  Good, he was playing his part…

            "Remus," Snape answered nonchalantly.  "How good of you to finally join us."

            Lupin just glared, his lips fixed in a snarl.  Snape took that moment to pull his prisoner savagely to his feet, evoking a startled, pained exhalation from between the swollen lips.  He pulled Lupin close, making sure to keep the other man's neck at a painful angle.  He was cheek to cheek with his former classmate and colleague.

            "I'm going to help you," he said in the softest of voices, his lips against Lupin's ear.  And before the other man could respond, he clasped him by the jaw and slanted his mouth over Lupin's.  He took advantage of the werewolf's surprise and used his tongue to propel the capsule into deep into Lupin's mouth.  He tried to pull away, but Snape held him fast, making a spectacle of the kiss as he was sure the Death Eaters would like.  And then there was a sharp pain in his lower lip and the taste of blood; Lupin had bitten him.

            He pulled back, allowing the blood to trickle down his chin for a moment.  Lupin's lower lip was smeared scarlet, and he looked positively murderous.  But it was obvious that he'd swallowed the capsule; Snape's relief outweighed his anger.  The outer coating of the capsule was a sedative, and the liquid inside was a potent painkiller.  If Lupin was this defiant with all of his captors, he'd need both.

            Severus wiped the blood from his face with his hand and smeared it across Remus's cheek.  The trapped man hissed and bared his teeth, the malice in his expression never wavering.

            "What's the matter, wolf?" Snape said silkily, running his tongue over his lacerated lip.  "I thought you liked blood."

            "Fuck you, Snape," Lupin snarled.  Severus was momentarily startled at the viciousness of Lupin's tone, and then he reminded himself that hatred was not all that hard for the Gryffindor to pretend, especially towards his grudging Slytherin compatriot.

            But a moment later, Lupin crossed the line.  Even though Severus saw it coming, he couldn't dodge at such close range, and before he knew it, there was a large gob of thick, red-tinted saliva dripping down his cheek.

            *                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

            Minerva didn't know whether she should be extremely angry or extremely unnerved when she rounded a corner and saw Ronald Weasley struggling against Argus Filch's hold on the back of his pajamas.  Upon taking in more of the situation, though, she decided for the latter.

            "Argus, release him!" she snapped.  Filch, who obviously hadn't noticed her appearance, jumped and jerked his hand away from Ron as if he was a hot burner on a stove.

            "Professor McGonagall—" the grizzled groundskeeper began, but Ron cut him off.

            "He's hurt!" he shouted, his voice cracking with emotion.  "He's dying and Filch didn't believe me and—"

            "Who, Mr. Weasley?  And where?" she demanded, the worm of worry in her stomach growing into a fat, squirming snake.

            "In the dormitory!  I was trying to get Madam Pomfrey!" he gasped, his wide eyes becoming glassy with tears of panic.

            "Mr. Weasley, come with me.  Argus, go get Poppy and bring her up to the Gryffindor dormitory!" McGonagall ordered.  Filch nodded dumbly and Ron was looking at her as if she were the Divine Savior.  As soon as Filch was dispatched, Ron turned and began to run back towards the entrance to Gryffindor tower, his bare feet slapping on the cold stone floor.

            *                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

            "Clothes off."

            "What?" Draco asked, still reeling from the apparition all the way from Hogwarts to Malfoy Manner.

            "I said get your clothes off."

            "Mum, what the hell is going on?  It's the middle of the night and you pull me out of bed _at school_ and _now _you're telling me to take my clothes off and I think I'm well within my right to be a bit apprehensive!" 

            Narcissa whirled around from where she was standing at the wardrobe, her face as close to livid as he'd ever seen it.

            "Just do what I say, Draco!" she snapped, her face and posture daring him to disobey her.

            Draco sighed and did what she said, but slowly, nervousness growing in his stomach.  He knew his parents were Death Eaters; they'd never really bothered to keep it a secret from him.  He also knew that whatever went on at those Dark Revels was as far from nice and fluffy as possible.  He remembered a time when his stomach had nagged him for food in the middle of the night, and he'd gone down to the kitchen only to walk right into his bloodied father.  He hadn't needed to ask whether or not the blood was his; it wasn't.  It never was.  He stole a glance at the clock; half past ten at night.  Draco's stomach sunk as he realized that this was prime time for a Revel.

            "Mum…where's Father?"

            "Sick," she said curtly, plucking some clothing from the wardrobe.

            "Can I see him?"

            "No."

            "What—"

            "Drink this," she said, thrusting a small vial into his hand.  The liquid within was grey and rather unpleasant looking.

            "Why?"

            "Drink it," she ordered in that no-nonsense tone.

            Draco uncapped it reluctantly, sniffing it.  His gag reflex suddenly reminded him of its existence.

            "Ugh…" he said, holding it at arm's length.

            Narcissa turned and gave him a glare that could have defeated an entire army.  Draco sighed, closed his eyes, and brought it to his lips.

            It was the most disgusting thing he'd ever tasted.  He doubled over, feeling it slide lumpily down his throat to congeal in his stomach.  He was sure he was going to spend the rest of the night vomiting because of this evil concoction.  But all of a sudden, the nauseating sensation was gone and he simply felt…different.

            He opened his eyes and was instantly confused.  He was no longer on eye level with his mother; now he was towering above her.  He could see the top of her blond head and the dust particles on top of the wardrobe.

            "What was that?" he asked, and started at the sound of his voice.  It wasn't his voice at all.  It was deeper, smoother…the voice he'd been instructed by and taken commands from all his life.  Lucius Malfoy's voice had just come out of his mouth.

            "Polyjuice," Narcissa answered simply.

            Draco looked down at himself incredulously.  He was no longer a fifteen year old boy; he was longer, leaner, broader, with platinum hair well past shoulder length and a Dark Mark etched into his left arm.

            It was _weird._  He didn't like it at all.  Especially not with his mother staring at him like he was a piece of meat!  It just…wasn't right.  His initial feeling of unease burgeoned as he put two and two together.  It was time for a Revel and he'd just been turned into his own father.

            "Put this on," she said, tossing a bundle of Lucius's clothing at him.  And with that, she swept out of the room and left Draco to himself.

            *                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

            Even though Minerva had been told of Sirius Black's innocence and his role in Dumbledore's intelligence network, she still wasn't prepared to see him after all the years and all the controversy.  And especially not as he was now, pale, blue-lipped, and bundled in blankets already soaked through with blood.

            Harry looked terrified for a moment, remembering that only he, Ron, Hermione, and Dumbledore knew of Sirius's innocence.  He opened his mouth to explain, but McGonagall cut him off with a swift gesture of her hand.   

            "Save your breath, Mr. Potter, I know the whole story.  What on earth happened to him?"

            "I don't know," Harry replied anxiously.  "All he said was…"

            "Well?" McGonagall prompted as she unwrapped the injured man and cast a few healing charms over the worst of his wounds.

            "He said…that Snape poisoned him," Harry admitted in a rush of words.

            Minerva looked up sharply.  She didn't doubt Sirius; although he had been a prankster and troublemaker in school, he was an honest, good person at heart.  There was no way Dumbledore would trust him if those qualities were lacking.  But she also didn't believe Severus would do a thing like that.  Granted, he despised Sirius, but he prided himself on not sinking to the Marauder's childish level of revenge, and there were much more pressing things on his agenda.  She could not claim to know Severus Snape very well, and it was certain that he could be arrogant, spiteful, and cruel at times…but Harry's confession simply could not be the truth. 

            "I doubt that, Mr. Potter," she said softly, replacing the blankets around Sirius's battered body.  She was no Mediwitch; she'd done what little she could, and the rest was up to Poppy.

            "Why?" Harry asked, his brows furrowing.  "He hates him."

            "You did not have the opportunity of knowing your Godfather while he was in school, Harry.  Sirius didn't care whose feet he was stepping on in those days, and Severus was one of his favorite targets.  He nearly got him killed."

            "Yes, yes, I've heard it all before," Harry snapped, his face darkening.  Minerva was slightly taken aback at his tone; it smacked of anger and scorn.  "Why doesn't he just get over it?  Or are all of Voldemort's lackeys ill-tempered crybabies?"

            "Mr. Potter, I know you are involved in a very stressful situation, but that is no reason to disrespect your elders!" McGonagall chastised severely, giving Harry a withering glare of disapproval.

            Harry simply crossed his arms over his chest and lapsed into a moody silence, his eyes narrowed and blazing with a maelstrom of anger, worry, and frustration.  Minerva might have laughed if the situation were not so dire; Harry did not know just how much he was acting like Severus at the moment.  Ironic, considering Snape was the very object of his wrath.

            Minerva started slightly as Sirius squirmed under the blankets.  His face contorted in agony, and he murmured,

            "Remus…Moony…no…" in a heartbreakingly pathetic tone.

            Minerva frowned.  Was Remus Lupin out there somewhere, too, bleeding and as grievously injured as Sirius was?  She hoped they hadn't been together when disaster struck, but knowing the Marauders…she'd have to talk to Dumbledore about it as soon as Poppy took over.

            And, blessedly, right at that moment Poppy Pomfrey made a frenzied entrance in her nightclothes.

            "Where is he?" she demanded, practically screaming.  If anyone had managed to sleep through this ordeal so far, they were awake now.  And indeed, as Pomfrey busied herself with inspecting and levitating her patient, they had gained an audience.  Dean and Seamus were standing at the foot of their beds like sleepwalkers, watching with bleary eyes.  Neville had also stumbled out of bed, and from the look on his face, he'd figured out who was inexplicably bleeding all over the Gryffindor dormitory.

            As Pomfrey and McGonagall levitated Sirius out of the room, Neville moved towards Harry, who stood stone-faced at in the middle of the room.

            "That's…" Neville ventured tentatively, but was cut off by Harry's fierce snarl of,

            "That's my Godfather!"

            Neville shrunk back from the ferocity in Harry's tone, and could only stare after the dark-haired boy as he fled from the room.

            *                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

            Severus clenched his fists inside the long sleeves of his robe.  His skin was crawling ceaselessly; he felt like there were a thousand ants creeping about beneath his epidermis, and the tickle of each tiny leg reminded him of the fire in Lupin's eyes after the wolf had spit at him and exactly how much that small, stupid gesture of defiance had angered him.

            He'd cast the Cruciatus on him three times.  He would have had to do it anyway, but he did it with vigor, and, for a moment before he regained rational control of himself, he'd enjoyed it.  Then the sound of Remus's screams finally processed in his brain, and he had to fight the urge to double over and vomit.  He'd vowed many years ago never to enjoy any of the goings on at a Revel ever again, and he'd just felt the most intense satisfaction from invoking horrible pain in someone who was a respected colleague, one of the most tolerable, and perhaps, under different circumstances, someone who could have been a friend.

            He had to stop thinking about it.  His stomach was rising again, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.  He focused instead on a task that was no less bitter; picking Lucius Malfoy out of the crowd.  He hadn't managed to find him yet, which was highly unusual.  It unnerved him; although through technicality Pettigrew was Voldemort's right hand man, he was too stupid and bumbling to really be of any use.  Lucius was the real Hand of Voldemort, if one could assign such a title to it.  So why was he conspicuously absent?

            A moment later, lost in his thoughts, Severus nearly tripped over a pair of bodies entwined in the grass.

            "Watch your big ugly feet, Severus," a familiar haughty voice shrilled.  Snape looked down and was greeted with the sight of a very naked Narcissa Malfoy and an equally naked Camilla Crabbe fondling and tasting each other quite blatantly.

            "Find a better place to whore yourself," he retorted darkly, his lip curling into a disgusted sneer.  The moment it left his mouth he regretted saying it, not because he gave a damn about Narcissa, but because it could have negative consequences for Selena.  But he could not help his revulsion; it was simply abhorrent that they could derive any kind of pleasure from what was being done to the helpless man up on the altar.

            "Oh, go stick your cock in a meat grinder," Narcissa replied crossly before returning to her work between Camilla's legs.

            "Disgusting," he murmured to himself as he continued his stroll.  He felt a certain relief as he distanced himself from the revelers; he could breathe air that was not contaminated with the smell of blood.  The scent of Lupin's pain carried in the breeze, and Severus felt that it had sunk into his pores, invading him and eating away at his sanity like some exotic brand of leprosy.  He needed a moment to fix the cracks in his armor.  He was calmed by momentary silence and solitude upon entering the small copse of trees a few yards away from the altar.  Here, just for a moment, he could let his muscles relax and give over to the shudders that wracked his body like an epileptic fit.

            Severus crouched against a thick tree trunk, his head between his knees, waiting for the nausea to pass.  He was about to reach into his sleeve for a potion when an oddly shaken voice enquired,

            "All right then, Snape?"

            The dark head jerked up, alarm clear in his black eyes for a split second before it was replaced with the usual cold, dead detachment.  Severus found himself looking into the pale blue eyes of Lucius Malfoy.  And yet…the man was different.  All his confidence, his swagger, his bloodlust…it was lost in the way he sat Indian-style against the tree, his arms crossed as if to ward off a chill, his brows drawn and his lower lip caught between his teeth.

            Severus felt a profound sense of wrongness.  Whoever that was, it _was not Lucius.  He stumbled to his feet, ignoring the flip-flop of his stomach as he did so.  The Lucius impostor was given the most withering glare he could muster, and then Snape turned on his heel and headed back to the Revel, his shoulders squared and his head held high._

            He considered taking a calming potion; Merlin knew he needed it, all of his usually dormant emotions were in an uproar.  But then his eyes drifted up to the altar.  Half of Lupin's torso was hanging off the edge, his head tilted back and the amber-flecked eyes staring into nothing.  One thin, pale arm dangled in the air, swaying occasionally with the motion of his torturer.  McNair had finally gotten to him.

            Thank Merlin he'd gotten the painkillers into the werewolf.  Lupin wasn't feeling any of it, and his dazed, vacant expression was the same as most of the victims' after the first half hour of torture.  Severus sighed, but did not look away.  He was glad that Lupin was in another place, but what was left of his nebulous soul was tearing itself to shreds over the fact that he'd willingly contributed, if only for a moment, to the other man's torture.

            As he had when he'd cracked his hand over the fireplace, he let the pain pervade him.  He focused on it.  Pain was real.  It was real, and it could be overcome.  One needed only to learn to coexist with it.     

            *                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

            Selena was amazed that she even had the energy to shiver.  It was so cold in Azkaban, so deathly cold…her toes and fingers had gone numb hours ago, and she thought bitterly that she would have been warmer in Siberia.  She supposed it was necessary to preserve the rotting flesh of the Dementors; how else could the undead guards keep from becoming skeletons in robes?

            The shivering wasn't doing her any good, but at least she knew her muscles were still working.  She kept reminding herself that it could be worse, and really, it could.  At least she was mostly left alone.

She remembered how she'd snuck into her mother's room to look for something to do one stormy day when she was eleven.  She'd come upon her mother's diaries, three thick, leather bound books.  Two of the three were yellowed with age, and the third had only just been started.  The first date in the oldest book had been August 4, 1945.  She had read in wide-eyed wonder and disbelief as her mother, just fifteen years old at the time, chronicled the atrocities of the Second World War.

            She had been safely squared away in the interior of Communist Russia; she and her family had never witnessed the Third Reich's offensives against the Ukraine and Stalingrad.  And the Germans had been so clever, working the propaganda machine and concealing their methodical brutality.  After the war, when it had been discovered that the 'resettlement' of the Jews and other 'undesirables' (including a great many witches and wizards, actually) had been not to 'social education labor camps' but to mass, unmarked graves, the whole world was appalled at what they had allowed to go on all those years.  Selena had been similarly appalled; in her youthful idealism, she simply could not believe that people, Muggle and Wizard alike, could be so blind and heartless.

            She believed it now.  It was not really so different, this rise of Voldemort.  In fact, the parallels were stunningly familiar.  The first rise of Germany, its defeat, its restless, forced dormancy…and then the second rise, infinitely more terrible than the first.  Yes, one could safely say that Voldemort was the wizarding world's Hitler, the Death Eaters his Nazi regime, the purebloods his Aryan race, and the squibs, Muggle-borns, and half-breeds his Jewish scapegoats. 

            She was just another one of those 'undesirables', now brushed aside to await her own slow, helpless death.  She didn't realize she was crying until she tasted salt.  She also didn't realize that a Dementor was standing over her until it bent down, its old, crusted joints crackling, and placed a ratty blanket over her shivering figure.

            She gasped and jerked away from its skeletal hands.  Oddly enough, it mirrored her motions and recoiled.  Selena stared at the black-robed creature, curled into fetal position in the very corner of her cell.  The blanket was scratchy but warm; her shivering slowed and then ceased all together as she and the Dementor simply stared at each other.  She didn't know how much time passed as she was locked in the frightened stalemate with the ghastly aberration, but her curiosity was quickly replaced with fear as another Dementor appeared, and then another.

            She crushed herself into the corner, tears beginning to spill again.  There had to be ten of them now, all standing over her like clones of the Grim Reaper.  Was this how it ended?  They performed a final act of kindness and fell upon their victim en masse?

            Twelve…fourteen…oh God, how many of them were there?  Now they were moving towards her, gliding as if they were on ice skates, and a scream welled up in her throat.  She clamped her hands over her mouth.  She couldn't scream, couldn't let them near her mouth or else they'd give her the Kiss.

            Selena turned on her side and curled up as tightly as possible, her back to the mass of Dementors.  They weren't going to get her without a fight.  She lay with her eyes squeezed shut, her heart pounding in a crescendo of fear as she waited for the feel of their cold, decaying hands on her body.

            A minute stretched by, then two, then three.  She knew they were close; she could smell them.  But nothing happened.  No skeletal hands were laid on her, no rotting faces lowered to hers.  She dared to open one eye.  The Dementors stood around her in a semicircle, mute and menacing, like sentinels of the underworld.

            _Do not fear us._

            She gasped as the communal voice invaded her mind.  It was deep and rasping, rattling like dead leaves whisked around in the late autumn breeze.  It was also strong and sonorous, drowning out everything else that raced through her head.  It was the strongest psychic force she'd ever felt.

            _We will not harm you._

            She didn't trust them, but it wasn't like she could actually defend herself if they decided to attack.  She propped herself up against the cold stone wall, pulling the shabby blanket up to her chin, and surveyed the beings that surrounded her.

            _Why did you give me the blanket? she asked telepathically._

            _Mistress was cold. they replied in their eerie collective of voices._

            _Mistress?  Even mentally, the question was tinged with confusion._

            _Mistress is one of us._

            Selena blinked in shock and shook her head slowly.

            _I'm human.  I'm a witch.  _

            _We are human._

            _You can't be._

_            We are.  We looked like you once._

_            How?_

_            Dark magic.  We were psychics like Mistress.  Lord Grindelwald captured us and used us for experiments.  He turned us into this._

_            That's…awful._

_            We can only inspire fear and pain now.  Even Mistress is afraid._

_            I didn't know you had minds.  I'm not afraid anymore._

_            Mistress is not afraid?_

_            No._

            There was a long, loaded pause.  The Dementors did not so much as sway.  A few moments later, the grating voice penetrated her mind again.

            _May we touch Mistress?_

            Selena was taken aback both by the odd request and the timid tone in which it was made.  Why should they want to touch her?  But after a moment of thought it made perfect sense; they were not so far from human even now, and yet their appearance and their effect on people around them isolated them to the extreme.  They were almost immortal beings, starved for human touch and interaction for over sixty years, with nothing but an eternity of solitude in their dim future.  Of course they would want to touch her.

            She nodded, allowing the warm haven of the blanket to desert her.  Goosebumps raised upon her skin instantly – gods, it was so cold!  She wondered about their genders as she revealed herself to them; were they all male, or a mix of male and female?  It was impossible to tell.  Hesitantly the Dementors moved forward in groups of two or three, grazing cold, slimy, spongy fingers along the bare skin of her arms and legs, and occasionally a particularly daring one would deign to steal a touch against her cheek or neck.  Each touch felt like a series of fat slugs gliding moistly over her flesh, and she fought the urge to shudder.  The smell also assaulted her, sulfuric and rancid.  It was worst when one of the putrid hands grazed her face, and it took all of her self control to keep the grimace from flashing across her features and her stomach from rising.  The situation was tenuous; they were still dangerous, even though they seemed fascinated and unthreatening right now.  If she showed the slightest bit of disgust…they might take it personally.

            _Mistress is disgusted by us._

            Alarms flared within her and she tried to convince them otherwise.

            _No, not at all, I—_

            We are disgusting.  We understand if Mistress does not wish us to touch her physically.

            Selena felt petty all of a sudden.  It was just a classic, simple case of beauty and the beast; she was ashamed that she could not get past the face of the beast.

            _I'm sorry._

_Mistress does not need to be sorry.  Mistress is beautiful.  We should not taint Mistress._

_You haven't.  You won't._

_Why is Mistress here?_

_I was convicted of a crime I did not commit._

_Who accused Mistress?_

_It's not important._

_But Mistress is suffering._

_I would suffer in or out of this place, it makes no difference.  That's just how the world is right now._

_What does Mistress mean?  We know nothing of the outside world._

_Voldemort is gaining supporters.  There's going to be a war._

_Voldemort?__  The Dark Wizard?  We thought he was gone._

_He has returned._

_Voldemort is wicked like Grindelwald!_ they practically roared in her mind, their tone hateful and vehement.

_Yes._ she replied simply.

We will protect Mistress from Voldemort! 

_It is not I who needs protection, it's my brother._

_Mistress has a brother?_

_Yes._

_Is Brother like Mistress?_

_No, he's not psychic._

_Why does Brother need protection?_

_He works as a spy.  If he is discovered, Voldemort will torture and kill him._

_Brother opposes Voldemort?_

_Yes._

_Brother is…a false Death Eater?_

_Yes._

_Brother is noble!  We will protect him._

_You will?_

_Yes.  We can tell that Mistress loves him very much._

She nodded, smiling ruefully.  This was surreal!  Was it even happening, or was it all some crazy hallucination?

Thank you.

_We wish to serve Mistress.  Mistress is the only one who cares about us._

_Others can't understand you.  You know people fear what they don't understand._

_Mistress is humble, but we are her servants.  We will do what Mistress wants._

_I don't want to use you.  I have no right to act as your master._

_Mistress is a kind master.  Not like Grindelwald.  Mistress can help us do good!  We can do nothing without Mistress._

Selena frowned, thinking hard.  How ironic it was; the feared Dementors of Azkaban, notorious for spreading misery everywhere they went, were simply the victims of a madman who wanted nothing more than to be able to do good once again.

All right.

_Thank you, Mistress!  What does Mistress wish us to do?_

_A friend of mine is imprisoned here, too.  His name is Filibus Flitwick.  He is also being punished without reason.  Please keep him warm and safe.  He is a good man, and will understand if you talk to him._

_Filibus Flitwick can hear us?_

_He can hear me when I speak directly to his mind, although he cannot respond._

_We will watch over Filibus Flitwick for Mistress._

_Thank you._

Three of the Dementors glided off, no doubt to fulfill what she'd asked.

_What about Brother?_ the rest asked in unison.

His name is Severus.  He is the Potions Master at Hogwarts.

_We have been to Hogwarts.  We have seen Brother._

A slight pause, and then,

Brother is with Voldemort.

_Yes.  A Dark Revel._

_Brother is afraid.  He hurts._

_He must participate in the Revel, but he does not wish to hurt people.  It pains him to do such terrible things, and he never knows if he will live through the night or not._

_Brother wishes to save the victim, but is afraid they will kill him._

_He can do very little without being caught, but sometimes he can rescue someone._

_They fear us.  We will go to the Revel and break it up!_

_Don't you have to stay here and guard Azkaban?_

_Some will stay.  The rest of us will go.  We want to help Brother!_

_Then go, but do not harm anyone.  Just chase them away._  She frowned inwardly as she directed the Dementors; it would be doing the entire wizarding world a favor if each and every Death Eater was cut down tonight, in one fell swoop, courtesy of the Dementor's Kiss.   But her conscience balked at giving such an order; even if they were servants of evil, they were still mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, husbands and wives, friends and enemies…they were people.  Misdirected, violent, and dangerous people, to be sure, but…people nonetheless.  It shamed her to admit it, but the thought of Lucius being killed in an ambush under the moonlight unsettled her greatly.  It was stupid, so completely stupid!  There was hardly a shred of good left in him, and he was so far from the man she had loved!  How could she feel anything positive for him after all that he'd done?

She sighed, lowering her head into the cradle of her hands.  She could still feel things for Lucius because she could still love Severus, even after his disastrous mistake of joining the Death Eaters.  She knew her brother better than anyone, and her certainty that he was a good person never wavered.  So even if he had spent so many nights defiling, maiming, killing – and enjoying it – she could accept it as a human error, one an imperfect being was apt to make.  She knew he was haunted by it; sometimes, late at night, she could feel the echoes of his nightmares.  He was so fragile but so driven.  Severus Snape wanted atonement, even if it meant that the rest of his time would be spent in anxious misery.  He was willing to go that far to put things right.

Gods, what had happened to Lucius?  

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

_The beginning of October, Seventh Year:_

_That year had had a special 'fall holiday'.  It was not a holiday at all, in actuality – the Ministry had sent everyone home for a week because more evidence of Death Eater activity had been found on the grounds of Hogwarts and they needed time to investigate.  She and Severus had said good night to Lucius hours before, and Severus had gone off to his obscure books and she to her bed.  Selena had been very confused when sharp, resounding clinks had penetrated the foggy half-sleep she was in.  It took her a moment to figure out that it was coming from the window, at which point she picked up her wand (just in case) and went to look.  She was very surprised to see Lucius below her window, one hand in the pocket of his robe and the other holding a fair supply of pebbles._

_She opened the window and stuck her head out._

_"What is it?" she whispered loudly._

_"Come on a walk with me," was his cryptic response._

_"Why now?"_

_"Just put your slippers on."_

_"Lucius--"_

_But he turned and began walking down the cobbled drive, and gave no indication of hearing her query.  Selena sighed and watched him for a moment.  His shoulders were a bit hunched and he seemed to be in a mood.  Something had to be off; why wasn't he home, and why wouldn't he answer her questions?_

_She shrugged and sighed as she grabbed her slippers and a light jacket.  She left the house quietly, passing by her father as he dozed in his recliner.  The familiar sight brought a smile to her lips, but it faded as soon as she was out the door.  She jogged to catch up with Lucius, and then matched his slow, relaxed pace.  They'd been walking in silence for a good fifteen minutes before he finally spoke._

_"Selena, I know everything."_

_"What?" had been her confused response._

_"I know that your mother is a Muggle."_

_Her feet faltered as his statement hit her, and she nearly fell.  He caught her reflexively, and for a second all had seemed normal.  But then his hands had drawn away and he continued walking.  She stayed where she was, watching him stride slowly ahead, and felt dread begin to saturate her body down to her bones.  This couldn't be happening.  The Malfoys were practically the spokesfamily for maintaining the purity of wizarding blood.  Now that he knew…was he appalled that he'd been sharing a bed with a half-blood?  Was he going to break up with her and turn on her, spreading her secret to everyone at school?  Oh please, please no…such a stupid, simple thing as this could get her family killed!_

_"My father is a Death Eater," he said quietly from a few feet away, his back to her._

_A cold fist of fear punched her in the stomach.  She put her hand over her mouth to muffle a sob that she couldn't control._

_"Please, Lucius…" she whispered, her voice tremulous.  "I didn't mean to lie to you, but…but you have to understand, if people knew…"_

_"You'd be dead." _

_Her breath stopped at his emotionless words.  He sounded so cold, so distant…fear paralyzed her completely as she remembered how the relationship had started, that hot sticky night less than two years ago.  It all made sense now; she had never found out why exactly he'd been out in the Forbidden Forest at one in the morning, but it must have been because he, too, supported Voldemort's cause.  He had been the one to let the Death Eaters onto the grounds of Hogwarts.  Her stomach tightened as she remembered how he had attempted to blackmail her until she turned the tables.  Would he do that now, forcing her to do whatever he wanted in exchange for keeping her mother's origins a secret?_

_"I have until Christmas to remove you and Severus from my life."_

_She simply stared at his back, unable to speak.  He turned a moment later and covered the distance between them so swiftly that she could only draw her shoulders up and flinch, tensed for a blow that was surely coming._

_His hands had settled tightly around her biceps, and she waited, her eyes closed and her body rigid with fear.  She felt the pressure on one of her arms ease and heard the swish of the fabric of his robes as he raised a hand.  But then…there was only the gentle brush of fingertips across her cheek and the slight scrape of a nail as he pushed a piece of hair out of her face._

_"Do you really think I'd hit you?" he said softly._

_She opened her eyes hesitantly.  She was confused by the exhausted melancholy in his eyes; he wasn't angry…?_

_"Selena," he said, cupping her cheek and shaking his head slightly, "I would never raise a hand to you.  And if I ever did, it would only be because I was under the Imperius curse."_

_"I…you…" was all she could manage._

_"My father wants me to end all this," he continued, raising his other hand to cradle her face gently.  "But I won't.  I love you."_

_"But…my mother…"_

_"I don't care."_

_"But…but it would sully your bloodline…"_

_"It would do nothing of the sort!  A Malfoy should be so lucky to have an incredible person like you as his partner."  He paused for a moment, looking away and letting his hands slip down to clasp hers.  Then his eyes returned to hers, clear and luminous.  "Look, '__Lena__, I haven't got a proper ring, but – " he dropped to one knee and stared up at her beseechingly, "will you marry me?"_

_She nearly passed out right there.  She'd been so terrified, expecting the end of her happiness to come from his mouth or his wand at any moment.  He had to lean back and crush her small hands in his to keep her upright.  But it didn't help; instead of tilting backwards, she simply fell forwards into his arms._

_"Lucius…" she sobbed quietly into his neck, her arms clutching around his broad chest tightly.  He held her, not entirely sure how to react.  He'd made her cry…that couldn't be a good thing…_

_"Yes," she whispered._

_"What?"_

_"I said yes, you deaf arse!" she said louder, embracing him fiercely._

_"I thought because you were crying…" he began, the meaning of her reply not yet set in, before she smothered the rest of his sentence in a kiss._

_"Don't you ever scare me like that again," she said breathlessly when the kiss was broken a minute later._

_"I didn't mean to," he murmured, still slightly dazed.  But he sobered quickly, his brows drawing together in a frown.  "Selena, this means I can't go back to the Manor.  My father has already threatened me with the Imperius and I don't want to give him any chances to make good on that."_

_"You can stay with us," she said immediately, concern blooming in her eyes._

_"Are you sure?  I don't want to impose on your family.  I'm not poor, I can rent a room in Hogsmeade or something."_

_"No.  I'm sure Mum and Dad won't mind my fiancé staying in the house for a week."_

_"'__Lena__, I don't know if we should tell them…" he said softly, his frown deepening._

_"Who would they tell?  Mum doesn't know anyone and Dad doesn't even work in this country."_

_"All right, but not tonight.__  Merlin, I haven't even given you a ring…" he groused, cringing._

_"Oh, honestly, Lucius," she said, swatting him on the arm lightly.  "I'd probably just lose it anyway, I was never the girl for fancy jewelry."  That much was true; she hardly wore any jewelry at all, save for a barely noticeable necklace with a six-pointed golden star on it._

_"You better not lose your wedding ring," he said warningly.  "Those things cost an arm and a leg, even for a Malfoy…and the way things are going, I'm sure I'll be cut out of the will."  He tilted his head to the side thoughtfully, regarding his bride-to-be.  "Not that I wouldn't get you another one, though."_

_"We'll just clone it two or three times when we get it so that way there will be spares around if I lose it.  You know what?  Don't even get me a ring.  It's not the ring that matters."_

_"No wife of mine will be walking around with bare fingers," he said, shaking his head._

_"Malfoy pride," she snorted, worrying blades of grass between her fingers.  But she could not keep a wide, radiant, and perfectly ridiculous smile from commandeering her face.  It was a Ludo Bagman sort of smile, the kind that seemed impossible during such dark times.  Of course, Lucius noticed and pounced on her, pinning her to the ground and kissing her senseless until both her jacket and t-shirt had soaked through with dew._

_"Oi, Lucius," she breathed, attempting to push him off her.  "Let me up, I'm all wet."_

_"Of course you are," he replied, grinning deviously before hoisting himself to his feet and offering her a hand._

_"Perv," she said as he pulled her up._

_"Your perv," he returned, placing his hands on her hips and guiding her back in the direction of the Snape mansion.  She felt his lips under her ear as he led her through the thin forest.  "Let's forget to cast a silencing charm when we get back," he purred._

_"Oh, no," she replied, in spite of the shiver that danced up her spine at his delightfully naughty tone.  "Severus doesn't love EITHER of us enough to listen to THAT for the rest of the night.  And my father definitely wouldn't be too pleased." _

_"Ah.  I didn't know Monsieur Snape was home.  In that case, you're probably right."_

_"Sev might be rattling some headboards of his own, anyway.  Moira showed up about a half hour after you left."_

_Lucius groaned and closed his eyes against the mental image that sprung into his mind.  Severus was his best friend, but that didn't mean he wanted anything to do with his sex life…_

_"Way to ruin the mood," he grumbled._

_"I had to calm you down somehow," Selena smirked, turning her head and glancing down at his groin.  "I thought you might not be able to make it back to the house."_

_Lucius's eyebrows went up, and then a wicked grin revealed his perfect white teeth._

_"Not in the dirt!" was all she got out before he tackled her to the ground._

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

Draco looked up sharply from his contemplation of the dried pine needles when screams rang out shrilly in the cool night air.  Those definitely weren't Professor Lupin's screams – they'd stopped a long time ago, how long ago he couldn't say.  Perhaps if it hadn't been someone he knew, and someone he actually minimally respected, he would have been able to pull off this ridiculous, macabre charade.

He still couldn't believe his mother had dragged him into this.  What kind of mother would turn her fifteen year old son into his father and bring him to this orgy of blood and violence?  It couldn't work, and not just because it was _impossible_ for Draco to impersonate his father successfully.  He just couldn't recreate Lucius's attitude, his menace – he'd been half-terrified of the man all his life, and now he was supposed to _be_ him?  It was insane.  Not only that, he'd had to _kiss_ his own mother.  On the lips, with tongue.  Been _groped_ by his own mother.  So what if it wasn't his own body?  It didn't make it any less horrifying.

And then…Lupin.  He'd felt positively sick when he'd recognized the emaciated, careworn man that had been his DADA professor for a year.  His first guilty response had been to look nervously up at the sky.  Clouds obscured the moon and stars, but there were claw marks across Lupin's chest; the moon must have just passed.  They must have found him right after the transformation, when he was weak…

And then the Revel had really begun.  Somehow, it hadn't been too shocking to see his Head of House and Potions professor kissing another man.  He hadn't even known it was Snape until the mask came away, and then his lips had been joined with Lupin's in an openmouthed, lascivious snog.  The whole thing reeked of showmanship, at least to Draco.  But everyone else there seemed thrilled with Snape's participation.  Draco knew it was insincere; now more than ever he was sure that Snape was not loyal to Voldemort.  He did not miss the brief, dismayed look that flashed across Snape's face for a fraction of a second after the third Cruciatus.  Lupin's screams had made Draco's hair stand on end and he'd wanted to flee right then, but there was simply no way he could get out of this unscathed.

Snape had been gentle compared to the rest of the Death Eaters.  There were plenty more Cruciatus curses, beatings with fists and assorted weapons, and exotic curses that, among other things, cut off the victim's air supply or tore open great wounds, salted them, and closed them again.  Then it had gone from bad to worse; Crabbe Sr. had cast the Imperius on Lupin, and by now he was far too weak to resist it.  Crabbe had forced the ruined man to pleasure him orally, and Draco himself felt degraded just from catching a glimpse of the atrocious act.  It made him sick to think that his father might have done that to someone in the past.  But at least it didn't hurt Lupin physically; that sort of thing just tore the man's pride into shreds.  Although who could say which was worse?

That was when Draco knew he had to get away.  He knew what came next, logically, and even though he could scarcely fathom it, he didn't doubt that the Death Eaters would do it.  Especially McNair – he'd been eyeing Lupin hungrily since the very beginning.  Draco had looked around to see if he had a clear path of escape and that's when he'd caught sight of his mother.  She was naked (that in itself was enough to make him want to gouge his own eyes out) in the grass with at least four or five other women, but specifically with Mrs. Crabbe.  Narcissa was the bottom of the sweat-slicked, writhing couple.  Their legs were tangled, their groins pressed together, and they thrust against each other in a mimicry of natural sex, moaning and panting like animals in heat.  That's exactly what they were, Draco realized as he promptly looked away.  Animals.  No human being in possession of a soul could derive pleasure from what was being done to the poor man up on the altar.  The soul was what distinguished humans from animals, after all, and without it…there were only raw, unrefined instincts.  Draco glanced up at the spectacle, and was sorry he had done so; Crabbe had apparently become bored with fellatio and moved on to far more horrible things.

He'd almost run for the trees, not caring who saw him or what they thought.  The trees and the cool quiet of the small forest had felt simply miraculous, and Draco had collapsed against one of the thick, gnarled trunks.  Not even two minutes later, Snape stumbled into the trees as well.  His face was pale; he looked like he was about to be sick.  He'd settled down almost directly across from where Draco sat and dropped his head between his knees, presumably to stave off the nausea.  It was strange to see the unflinching Severus Snape looking so haunted, and, momentarily forgetting he was in his father's body, Draco sought to comfort him.

"All right then, Snape?" he'd said softly.  He could have kicked himself a second later, when Snape's head jerked up in obvious shock.  Snape was not the sort of man you wanted to take by surprise; Draco was amazed that he was not avada kedavra'd on the spot.  But the glare Snape gave him as he rose to his feet could probably have stopped a dragon in its tracks and caused it to make a beeline for the nearest deep, dank cave with its tail between its legs.  And then Snape left with his usual flourish of swirling robes, and Draco's last link to sanity was gone.

He'd simply sat against the tree, his knees drawn up to his chest and his cheek resting against them.  And now people were screaming…what was happening?  Was Voldemort punishing them all…?

Reluctantly, he rose to his feet and made his way out of the trees.  His mouth dropped open as he emerged from the forest.  Dementors.  Dementors everywhere.  The Death Eaters were scattering in various states of undress, and Voldemort had already disappeared.  Before he could process the chaos of the scene, two Dementors were gliding towards him.  He hadn't even the time to turn and run before the sharp, bony hands were upon him and he was thrown to the ground face-first.  He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed to Merlin that they wouldn't give him the Kiss.

They hovered over him for a minute, and then a voice invaded his mind, ripping through his synapses painfully.

_FAÇADE!_

A sharp shot of pain made him cry out.  His back arched as every inch of his skin was set ablaze with red-hot agony.  Slowly, the pain began to taper off, and as his vision faded, he saw the Dementors move away in a great black clump.  Just before he passed out, the straggling thought that he couldn't make fun of Potter for being affected by the Dementors anymore crossed his mind, and then the curtain closed on Draco Malfoy's consciousness.

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

Severus Snape was surrounded by Dementors.  There had to be at least thirty of them, standing in a silent, somber circle.  He was in a rather undignified position (flat on his ass), and he could feel the glass of the broken potion vials digging into the skin of his forearm.  He held his wand out, knowing it was pointless against so many Dementors but not willing to give up completely.  His heart danced a tango against his ribcage, and all he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears, and then a brief, oddly familiar scream of pain.

He actually lowered his wand in awe a moment later when the circle of Dementors parted, and another one moved forward with the bloody figure of Remus Lupin draped across its arms.  The Dementor knelt at Severus's feet and deposited Lupin with the utmost care, as if he were a delicate infant.  They'd even wrapped him in a tatty old robe, creating the illusion that Lupin was just asleep, looking exactly like his usual careworn self.  

Severus moved forward hesitantly, leaning over Lupin to see just how bad he'd fared.  The Dementors watched for a moment and then slowly began to file away in pairs.  He could only wonder what had prompted the dark creatures to come and how they'd known which side he was on.  His attention quickly returned to Lupin when the werewolf moaned and stirred, his blood-streaked hand moving to clench the end of Severus's robe.  The painkiller was probably wearing off.  Severus cursed softly and reached into his sleeve for another dosage and jumped when his fingers met a sharp, jagged edge.  Shit…when the Dementors had thrown him down, he'd landed directly on the vials.  He didn't usually put an unbreakable charm on the vials he carried with him to the Meetings, in case he didn't have the time to patiently unscrew the lid of the potion.  He shook his sleeve, and bits of glass tinkled out onto the grass.  Shots of sharp, concentrated pain told him that the rest of the glass was in his arm.  Shit, shit, shit…if the glass had sliced his arm open, then the contents of the vials had obviously been introduced to his bloodstream.  He had brought six potions in all.  One had gone to Lupin, but the other five were a variety of sedatives, painkillers, and mind-alterers.  With all five of them coursing through his body, there was no doubt that the time he could stay conscious (or alive, for that matter) was greatly reduced.  He had to get back to Hogwarts _NOW._

"_Mobilicorpus_," he murmured as he stood.  A surge of dizziness accompanied the movement, and he actually had to hold on to Lupin's levitating body to steady himself until it passed.  Then he began to walk, Lupin floating eerily behind him.  He had no idea where they were, but the further away they were from the site of the Revel, the safer they were.  He took out his wand and was about to perform the Four Points Spell when he tripped over an unexpected barrier.

Severus cursed and looked around for what had gotten in his way.  His mouth fell open when he took in the figure sprawled haphazardly on the ground.  The short, slicked platinum hair, sharp nose and elfin features…Draco.  Draco Malfoy.  But…the clothing he was wearing was too big, pooling loosely around his slight frame.  In fact…it was Lucius's clothing.  Severus's mind balked at this contrary information.  He knelt down and lifted the boy's limp left arm.  No Dark Mark.  So Draco was here, but with no Mark, in Lucius's clothing…

Draco's eyes opened suddenly, and he jerked up, nearly clobbering the man that leaned over him.

"Dementors!" he gasped, his blue eyes darting around wildly.  They settled on Severus and Draco squinted, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.  "Professor?" he questioned.

"What are you doing here, Draco?" Snape asked, sounding almost nervous.  Draco noticed beads of sweat on the other man's brow.

"I'm—" Draco began, but trailed off in a stifled groan as a horrible cramp twisted his stomach in an exceedingly painful knot.  He leaned over, his face contorting in agony, and clutched his belly.  The pain burgeoned, causing him to collapse onto his side and curl up in fetal position.  "What did they do to me...?" he moaned, near tears.

"Polyjuice," Snape said suddenly.  "Narcissa made you drink Polyjuice potion to turn you into Lucius."

Draco nodded miserably.

"For the love of Merlin, why?" Snape muttered.

"Father is sick."

"That's still no reason…" he trailed off with a sigh, remembering the precariousness of the situation.  "The pain you're feeling is a side effect of the Polyjuice.  If the façade is ended before the potion wears off, it can make the drinker very ill.  Apparently the Dementors cast some type of spell on you which neutralized the effect of the potion."

Draco nodded again and then asked in a small voice,

"Will I be all right?" 

"As soon as I get you to Madam Pomfrey, you will be."

Draco propped himself up on one elbow and looked at the floating form of his ex-professor.

"Is Professor Lupin…?"

"He's been better, but I think he'll make it if we get back to Hogwarts quickly.  Draco, do you have any idea where we are?  Did your mother mention anywhere specific?"

Draco shook his head, curling up again as another wave of pain tore through him.  He was beginning to feel more than just the tight pain of the cramping; now a sensation of full-on, stomach-wrenching nausea began to bombard his senses.  He swallowed, feeling the burn of bile edging up his esophagus.

"Professor," he gasped, "do you have anything for—"

"No.  Just let it out, you'll feel better.  For a little while, anyway."

And a few minutes later, Draco had no choice but to lean over and retch.  It was horrible.  He'd never thrown up before; there was always a potion for that sort of thing.  He hated everything about it – the acid taste, the total lack of control, the way his body worked itself into a fever expelling the contents of his stomach.  He was surprised to feel Snape's hand on his back as he suffered through the last of the dry heaves.

"I can't really blame you," the dark man said softly.  "Not after seeing all this…"

Draco took a few minutes to recover, wiping his mouth with the too-long sleeve of his father's robe.  

"I…I think I'm ok now," he said, his throat rough. 

"Good," Snape said curtly.  "I need your help.  You know that you can't apparate with an unconscious person; chances are they'll get splinched.  Flitwick's taught you shielding charms, hasn't he?"

"Yes."

"I need you to cast the strongest charm you can on Professor Lupin.  And here's the hard part: I need you to maintain it while I apparate us back to Hogwarts." 

"How?"

"Just focus every bit of your magic on that one charm.  I know you can do it."

"But what if I get sick again?" Draco asked, worried.

"At least with a partial shielding charm, he'd only lose a hand or a foot instead of half of his body.  Considering the circumstances, I don't think he'd mind the sacrifice.  And the quicker the better, Draco, for all of us."

"Ok.  I'm ready, I guess," the pale boy said, producing his wand from somewhere within the massive robes.  He took a deep breath, pointed his wand at Lupin, and murmured, "_Contego_."

A deep ultraviolet glow surrounded Lupin and glimmered strongly.  A very resilient shielding charm, but that wasn't all that surprising coming from a Malfoy.  Draco really was a very good student; he was just constantly overshadowed by the Granger girl.

"Now remember to concentrate," Snape said, readying himself for what he knew would be a tremendous drain on his energy.   He shook his head to clear the persistent cobwebs and then focused every bit of his power on Lupin, Draco, and Hogwarts.

It was almost as bad as using a portkey for the first time.  Having his mind stretched in so many directions made his head spin, and he thought vaguely that Draco would probably be sick again when they made it to the gates.

Seconds later, his feet were on the ground again.  The rest of him promptly joined his feet; he had no more energy left to fight the effects of the five potions in his system.  Somewhere to his right, he could hear Draco retching.

Lupin was on the ground next to him, and from what Severus could see, he was in one piece.  But none of them were in any condition to make the long walk up the lawn and then to Madam Pomfrey's.  Severus pulled out his wand, muttered a spell, and watched as red sparks shot high into the sky.  It was the signal he and Dumbledore had agreed upon so many years ago if he ever needed assistance.  

Watching the spiraling sparks made him dizzy, and he closed his eyes.  And found, a moment later, that he simply could not open them again.


	15. Disclosure

Hermione walked into the Great Hall feeling very refreshed; she'd slept well last night, better than she had in almost a week.  She must have been very tired indeed, since it was usually impossible for her to fall asleep with so many thoughts whizzing through her mind.  But she'd been out the moment her head hit the pillow, and she was looking forward to a vigorous day of learning.

As she made her way towards the Gryffindor table, her eyes inevitably drifted up to the Staff Table.  Her heart did a Wronski Feint when her eyes were greeted with a very vacant chair where the Hogwarts Potions Master should be.  Mother of Merlin, had something happened?  She couldn't believe that she'd be able to sleep soundly on any night as disastrous as one that saw the end of Severus Snape.  She tried to catch Dumbledore's eye, but he was talking to McGonagall.  Both the Headmaster and the Deputy Headmistress looked very tired.  That couldn't be a good sign.

She sat heavily at her customary spot with the rest of her housemates.  But where Harry and Ron's heads should have been there was only a grey patch of wall.  Harry and Ron were missing, too?  What could this mean?  They wouldn't go to breakfast without her…

Suddenly Neville slid into view.  There were deep, shadowed bags under his eyes; he looked like he hadn't had a wink of sleep.  His face resembled the color of chalk.

"Hermione," he said, his eyes flickering around cautiously.  "Last night someone got hurt in the dormitory."

She automatically imagined the worst.

"Oh my God, is it Ron or Harry?" she gasped, her hands tightening on the fabric of her skirt.

"Neither, Hermione.  They're ok.  But…but…" here Neville paused and leaned in very close, so that his nose nearly touched hers.  "It was Sirius Black, Hermione."

Her eyes widened impossibly and her mouth fell open.

"He was all bloodied up, Hermione, and looked in a very bad way.  And…Harry said that he was his Godfather.  Is that true?"

"Yes," she whispered as all traces of her appetite disappeared.  "But he's innocent, Neville.  Sirius never hurt anyone."

Neville nodded.  

"I believe you.  Harry…seemed pretty worked up about it.  They took him to the Infirmary.  I'm sure that's where Ron and Harry are."

"Thank you so much, Neville," she said, leaning forward impulsively and hugging him.  "But please don't tell anyone about Sirius."

"I won't," he said, nodding.  

Hermione grabbed her bag and was about to stand when Neville grabbed her by the wrist.

"One more thing, Hermione," he whispered fervently.  "It wasn't just Black.  More people got hurt.  There was a Revel."

"Oh no…" she murmured.  A Revel.  One of Voldemort's Dark Revels.  Please don't let that mean…

"If I may have your attention for a moment, ladies and gentlemen.  I've one important announcement to make," Dumbledore said, his voice rising over the soft morning conversation.  The Hall quieted quickly, and hundreds of pairs of eyes turned towards the staff table.  "Now then," Dumbledore continued, rising from his chair.  "I must inform you that all Potions classes are cancelled for the rest of the week.  Professor Snape was called away suddenly on family business.  Enjoy your time off, but do be ready for a test on Monday.  Have a good day, then."

_Family business! _ Hermione's mind screamed.  It was a lie, a plain, blatant lie.  He had no family but Selena, and she…she was in Azkaban.  The only explanation was that he'd been hurt at the Revel.  Sirius and Snape…

She turned and ran all the way to the infirmary, her robes billowing behind her.

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

Neville hadn't been kidding when he said more people had been hurt.  Upon bursting into the Infirmary, there were no less than four beds curtained off.  One more where Ron lay asleep, still in his red and gold pajamas with his hair in firey disarray.   Madam Pomfrey bustled out of the nearest cubicle suddenly, causing Hermione to jump.

"Oh, Hermione," the mediwitch said, smiling curtly.  "Thank goodness you're here.  Would you mind helping me out?  I simply can't be in four places at once!"

Hermione swallowed as she noticed what Pomfrey was holding.  A heap of bloodied bandages.  The mediwitch must have caught the frightened look that flashed across her features, because her face softened.

"It's not as bad as it looks, Hermione, dear.  Not anymore.  You can go in there and see, if you like.  Harry's in there."

Hermione nodded and ducked into the cubicle.  Harry was there, all right, but he was asleep, curled up in an uncomfortable-looking chair.  Sirius lay in the bed next to him, pale and unconscious.  The sheet was pulled down to his waist, presumably so Madam Pomfrey could get at the bandages she'd just removed.  Even closed up and half-healed, the wounds across his shoulder made Hermione cringe.  If they still looked this severe after a night under Madam Pomfrey's care, they must really have been bad.

Pomfrey entered the cubicle quietly with another armload of supplies, one of which was a rather large needle.

"I've done what I can for him," she whispered.  "None of his remaining injuries are life-threatening."

"What happened to him?" Hermione asked.

"We don't know.  He just showed up in the dormitory like this."

"Will he be all right?"

"In a few days, certainly.  Would you like to help out for a little while, Hermione?  You're one of the few people I'd trust with my patients."

Hermione blushed slightly at the compliment and nodded.

"Thank goodness, I was beginning to think I might have to clone myself.  He's torn the ligaments in his knee, you see," Pomfrey said, pulling the blanket away from Sirius's body and pointing to the remarkably swollen limb.  Hermione tried very hard to ignore the fact that Sirius was quite naked underneath the sheet, but couldn't conceal her embarrassment.  "I need you to…" Pomfrey was saying as she looked up at Hermione.  She paused, noting the young woman's averted eyes and reddened cheeks.  Quickly, she rearranged the sheet so that Sirius was covered, but the leg in question was revealed.  "I need you to cast a transparency spell," the mediwitch continued smoothly.  "And a levitating charm."

Hermione did so, thankful for the mediwitch's understanding.  She watched with fascination as Sirius's skin, muscle, and bone became clear, and then gasped at the vibrant red color that was left over.  The capsule of his knee joint was filled with blood.

"Hold him steady, dear," Pomfrey said, picking up the awful-looking needle.  "You needn't look if you don't want to."

She did look, at least until the needle sunk all the way into his joint.  There was a nauseating sound of suction, and she had to turn away as Pomfrey began to withdraw the blood.

"Not the most pleasant procedure, I'll give you that," the mediwitch muttered as she removed the needle and cast a desanguination spell.  "Do you know what can be used to knit the ligaments?"

Hermione frowned and thought hard; she knew there was Skele-grow potion, to fix or re-grow bones.  But so far as she had seen, there was no such thing as Liga-grow.

"Is there some sort of potion?" she asked.

"Goodness, that would make things easier.  No, there isn't any potion.  Have you ever heard of Curatio spiders?"

"No," she said, thinking absently that it was a good thing Ron was asleep.  He really hated spiders.

"Very rare little creatures, really.  No bigger than the size of your thumbnail, even with their legs all spread out," Pomfrey said, picking up a small vial and handing it to Hermione.  There were five tiny, translucent spiders within, all piled haphazardly on top of each other and not seeming to mind.

"You're…going to put those inside of Sirius?" she asked hesitantly, feeling a bit of her own arachnophobia surface.

"Don't worry, Miss Granger, they won't go off exploring in Mr. Black's body.  Marvelous little arachnids, if I do say so myself.  They devour the injured tissue and then rebuild it with their silk.  The real wonder is that the silk is just as strong as the original tissue.  And once they're done, they crawl out, I put them back in their box, and they lay their eggs a week later."

"Wow.  So there's no danger to Sirius at all?"

"None."

"How do they get in?"

"Just make a little incision – like so – " Madam Pomfrey said, waving her wand.  A small portion of Sirius's skin opened as if it had been unzipped.  She picked up the vial, uncapped it, and let the five spiders crawl out onto the lip of flesh.  "And they find their own way," she finished, smiling as the spiders disappeared into the incision one by one.

"Why so many?  And how long does it take?" Hermione asked, full of questions now.

"One for each of the four knee ligaments and one for the cartilage.  It shouldn't take more than a day and a half – they're quick eaters."  One look proved Madam Pomfrey right; the Curatio spiders had already found their way into the joint and were contentedly munching on the shredded ends of the ligaments.

"Who else was hurt?" Hermione asked as Pomfrey cleaned up.  The mediwitch spared her a quick, searching glance and apparently found her trustworthy.

"Remus Lupin, Professor Snape, and Draco Malfoy."

"Are they all right?" she asked.  She was surprised that there was even an inkling of concern in her gut over Malfoy.  She didn't like him, but she certainly didn't wish death on him.

"They'll live," Pomfrey replied.  "Do you have time for another favor, Miss Granger?"

"Yes.  I've no classes until noon, since Potions is cancelled."

"I need to tend to Mr. Lupin.  He's the worst of the three.  Perhaps you could mind Professor Snape for me for a few minutes?"

"Er…I suppose," Hermione said.  She didn't think Snape would appreciate her presence when he was injured, but…there was only one Madam Pomfrey, and if she needed help, Hermione would give it.  

"You're a lifesaver, Hermione," the mediwitch said.  "And don't worry, he's too exhausted to snipe at you.  He probably won't even remember that an annoying Gryffindor helped nurse him back to health."

Hermione couldn't hide a smile.  Apparently poor Madam Pomfrey was as much a victim of Snape's crankiness and sarcasm as any of the brooding Potions Master's students.

"What's the matter with him?" she asked, following Madam Pomfrey out of Sirius's cubicle.

"He's…" again the mediwitch paused, frowning as some internal debate went on inside her head.  "Oh, bother," she said at last, throwing up her hands in exasperation.  "You, Potter, and Weasley know more about what goes on in this school than me.  He was called to a Death Eater meeting and he must've had a rather bad fall, because all the vials of potions he keeps up his sleeve shattered.  Gave him a great nasty cut up his arm, and the potions all seeped into his bloodstream.  Five potions at once, Miss Granger.  Two depressants, one narcotic, one hallucinogen, and one healing potion.  The healing potion cancelled out one of the depressants and the narcotic has worn off, but the two that are left over are having a time with his body."

"Oh, dear," Hermione said, grimacing.  Five potions at once?  It was amazing that he was still alive, especially considering the precision and potency with which his potions were brewed.

"Try to get him to drink this," Pomfrey said, handing her a vial filled with a dark red liquid.  "He may not be all that coherent.  If he won't take it, just tell me and I'll inject it.  And change his compresses, there's ice water in there."

Hermione nodded, took a deep breath, and ducked into Snape's cubicle.  A sigh of relief escaped her as she took in his state of dress; he was only _half _naked, deprived of his overcoat and shirt.  His feet were bare and his pant legs had been rolled up to his knees.  His left leg was bent at the knee and his right leg was straight on the bed, and she knew he must have a terrible fever by the gleam of sweat on the plane of his tibia.  She was almost afraid to continue her inspection, lest he catch her eyes on him, but her glance continued to drift upwards of its own will.

For some reason she felt much more comfortable looking at him than she had felt with Sirius.  It wasn't that he was unconscious; Sirius had been unconscious, too, and probably wouldn't have cared that she'd seen him.  For Snape, she couldn't say; he was so nonchalant about some things and so panicky about others.  But he was an intensely private person, and she supposed that he'd never be comfortable with the thought of being seen nude by a student.  But even as she thought it, her eyes had the gall to focus on his crotch.  And the evil little voice in her head, that voice that had only spoken on one other occasion involving a certain Bulgarian quidditch player, asked, "Now whatever does the Potions Master hide in his pants?"

Thankfully, the feverish man shifted a moment later, drawing her glance up from his groin to his stomach.  It wasn't much better; the ripple of muscles made it clear that Severus Snape had not let his body go to seed.  How he maintained such lean musculature she couldn't even begin to guess.  Of course he had to have upper body strength for his line of work, but it could have ended there.  She'd seen pictures of Potions Masters with beer bellies.  She wondered how they worked that way; how could one lean over a cauldron, after all, if there were six inches of fatty flesh in the way?

"Writhing under the effects of the Cruciatus works muscles you didn't even know you had."

The voice was tired and flat and so unlike the one she was used to.

"You're awake," she replied, stating the obvious because it was the only thing that came to mind through a wave of embarrassment.  He shifted again, turning onto his side and curling up.

"I haven't the energy to be the Greasy Git," he murmured, his black eyes slipping shut.  "Do your worst, Miss Granger, I shan't resist."

"Oh…um…Madam Pomfrey wanted me to give you this," she said, holding out the vial.  She didn't know what to say or think; he looked so sick and sounded so disheartened.  He cracked open one glassy eye, and reached for the vial with an unsteady hand.  He dropped it once he'd taken it from her, but luckily it landed on the edge of the bed and rolled towards him rather than on the floor.  Obviously his eye-hand coordination was not up to par.

"A blood cleanser," he said, lifting the vial with clammy fingers.

"It will help, won't it?" Hermione asked.

"It would, if I could sit up to drink it without feeling like I was going to vomit."

"Should I just tell her to inject it?"

He nodded, and some of his lank hair fell into his face.  Hermione reached to brush it away before she even knew what she was doing.  Her mind caught up a moment later, and a stab of panic went through her.  What in Merlin's name was she doing?  She watched his face carefully.  His eyes didn't open, but the lashes flickered slightly.  He was surprised, then, but as he'd said, he didn't have the energy to be the Greasy Git.  Do your worst, he'd said.  Was being touched by a Gryffindor something that fell into that category?  Or being touched by anyone, for that matter?

"Professor…" she said carefully as she reached for the compress that lay across his forehead.  The cloth had become so hot from his burning skin that she winced as she picked it up.  She glanced at the temperature monitor Pomfrey had set up; a little above 104 Fahrenheit.  Lord, she'd had a fever like that once, and she hadn't even been able to form words coherently.  What must this man have been through to build up that sort of tolerance?

"Were you ever married?" Hermione asked, dipping the compress into the ice water.

He snorted softly, but his lips did not twitch into their usual sneer.

"Must you ask me useless questions when I feel like I'm being buggered by the devil himself?"

Ah.  Nerve successfully hit.

"I'm curious," she said, lifting the cloth without wringing it out and letting the excess water drip onto his bare chest.  The muscles jumped and his eyes opened, the dark pools focusing on her.  Hermione met his eyes steadily, without fear or apprehension.  She waited just long enough for him to let his eyes fall shut again before wringing more water out of the compress and extending her hand to smooth the droplets over his chest and stomach.  Where was this boldness coming from?  She had no idea, but she seemed only to possess it when she was around him.

Perhaps, she thought as she transfigured some random medical paraphernalia into a paper fan, it was because she constantly had to prove herself to him.  A year ago she would have been afraid to even approach him.  But now…she found that she rather enjoyed the challenge that was Severus Snape.  Up until this point it had all been her laboring toward level ground.  Now, since she had him in a time and place where he couldn't resist or storm away, she set about turning the tables a bit.  Just how far could she push him?

A flick of the fan sent a current of cool air over his moist skin.  His brows had drawn together when she touched him, but now they relaxed.

"Feel good?" she asked, the corners of her lips lifting in a tiny smirk.

A barely noticeable nod.  She cast a spell on the fan so that it would work on its own and set about dribbling water down his left arm.  Drip, drop…down the pale but solid bicep, the soft crook of the elbow, to the fair expanse of his forearm.  She watched as the beads of water slid off the Dark Mark; right now it was dull and grey, looking like nothing more than a tattoo.  She felt him tense and he tried to draw away, but she held his wrist.

"I'm not afraid of it, you know," she said, smoothing the water out and making sure her fingers coasted over the Mark without pause.

"You should be," came the quiet murmur.

"And give him what he wants?  I don't think so."

His eyes opened as she was kneading his palm gently.

"Is Lupin all right?"

"He's alive.  That's all I know."

A sigh, and then all the rigidity in his muscles was gone.  His right arm was a languid weight in her hand as she lifted it to repeat the other arm's treatment.

"That was Lupin's attitude."  Again, no more than a murmur.  She didn't respond; she just massaged the palm and the long fingers, enjoying the definition and surety of the Potions Master's hand.

"Don't think he'll ever be the same."  A whisper, this time.  "I should have obliviated him."

Hermione glanced at the temperature reading; it had already gone down three tenths of a degree.  Her treatment was working.

"You're lucky you even managed to Apparate.  And besides, I thought you didn't even like him."

"It's Black that I don't like."

"I thought you hated all the Marauders."

"I hate Pettigrew, too."

"James Potter?"

"Swept along for the ride, that one.  Black was the ringleader.  Potter just went along with it.  Same with Lupin."  A pause.  "Lupin was civil.  He was in love with Selena."

Hermione's fingers slipped slightly.  So that was why he tolerated Lupin.  Now to see if she could hit that nerve again…

"Are you afraid of him?"

A snort.

"You know I don't mean Lupin.  The wolf.  Are you afraid of the werewolf?"

"You almost got killed by a troll.  Are you afraid of trolls?"

That answered her question well enough.  The truth was that she was terrified of trolls.  She still had nightmares about that incident.  What an undignified end that would have been, crushed to bits in a bathroom…

"I don't understand Lupin.  He's always been so terrified of hurting people…Dumbledore practically had to order him to teach here.  And Black…Black would have set him on me, and he would have killed me.  And the next morning he would have been devastated because he'd hurt someone, even if it was someone from Slytherin and someone his friends didn't like…Black knew.  He knew that Lupin would die of guilt if he ever hurt anyone.  What kind of bloody friend is that?  And what kind of stupidity does it take to let a person like that back into your life after that kind of betrayal?"

"It's not stupidity.  It's forgiveness.  The same kind Dumbledore gave you."

"Albus only forgave me because he saw a way to use me to fight his war.  He'd not blink an eye if I died tomorrow.  No one would."

"Is that really what you think?"

"I don't think, I know."

"Well, you do make it awfully difficult to care about you, you bloody porcupine."

His eyes opened and he gave her a long, analytical stare.

"Don't give me that look.  It's true.  You're all prickly on the outside, but you still have a soft belly underneath," she said.  She poked him on the stomach to emphasize her statement.

He closed his eyes and turned his head to the side.  After a moment,

"You sound like Selena." 

"You miss her."

A twitch of the left eye, and a nod.

"I want her out of there.  It kills me that she's suffering for my mistakes."

"That's what family is.  My parents are going to suffer because I'm a Muggle-born.  They know the danger.  Dumbledore's told them.  He even tried to convince them to move.  They won't.  They'll suffer, but suffer willingly.  That's love.  And believe me, if I could spare them…if I could go back and never read that Hogwarts letter…I would."

"You wouldn't."

"I would.  The same way you'd never have taken that Mark."

That statement hit the biggest nerve of all.

"It's not the same!  Bloody hell…I'm so sick of it!  People going on and on about how having Muggle blood is like some sort of brand of inferiority!"  His fist thumped into the mattress.  "It's utter piss, all of it!"

This reaction surprised her more than anything else.  He was the Head of Slytherin House, the lair of the purebloods, and while he did not directly breed that prejudice into them, he didn't discourage it.

"I can't stand it, looking at a child and knowing in the back of my mind that he or she is this or that.  Why not put a bloody fucking number on their arms?  They're not responsible for their lineage, and nothing, nothing at all has proved that purebloods are superior!  Arrogant pricks!  The half-bloods and the Muggle-borns and the squibs will be the ones to stand up for the Light, the ones to die on the battlefield so that psychotic bastards like Voldemort can't destroy everything.  Jesus!  I'd sooner trust my life to the house elves than a pureblood."

He was trembling with adrenaline.  His temperature had spiked up half a degree from his tirade.

"Professor, please…" she said.  He needed to calm down or his condition could worsen.

"No.  You listen to me, Hermione Granger.  You are a _witch_, and a damn good one at that.  A witch.  Not a Muggle-born or a mudblood or any other such nonsense.  Anyone who tries to tell you otherwise is full of shit."

Hermione's eyes widened.  That made a lot of people full of shit.  He raised a shaking hand to his forehead.

"Merlin…like it's a…sin…to add a little variety to the gene pool…" he said, his voice strained.

"Sir…are you all right?"

"Um."  A hitch of breath and a swallow.  "No.  Going…to be sick…"

She grabbed the basin of water, overturned it, and got it into his hands just in time.  How odd it was, and how human he seemed.

"Is everything all right in there, Hermione?" Pomfrey's voice rung out, sounding concerned.

She looked at Snape; he was pale and shaky and bent over the edge of the mattress.  He nodded miserably.

"Yes!" she answered, helping him back into a comfortable position.  She transfigured the fan into a cloth and bent down to start sopping up the water.  A moment later there was a creak and a shuffle.  Hermione whirled around to see Snape sitting up, and worse, attempting to stand.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, jumping up.

"I want to see Lupin."

"You're too weak!"

"I want to see Lupin."

Damn him and his stubbornness.  She had no choice but to rush to his side and support him lest he crumple to the floor.  It would serve him right, the stubborn arse!

"Severus!  What on earth are you doing out of bed!?" Pomfrey demanded.  "Hermione!  Why did you let him out of bed?!"

"Easy, Poppy, I told her I'd take off house points if she didn't help me.  Miss Granger is blameless, although I do wonder where her Gryffindor courage has fled to."

"You must be feeling better if that forked tongue is at work," Pomfrey said with an affronted huff.  "What do you want, you despicable Slytherin?"

"To see Lupin.  I nearly killed myself to get him back here; I just want to make sure you haven't mangled him."

"I'll mangle _you_ next time," Madam Pomfrey muttered under her breath.  "He's in there, but he's a sight.  Not for anyone with a _faint stomach_," she said, glaring pointedly at her unruly patient.  Snape just snorted and began moving towards Lupin's cubicle, leaning heavily on Hermione.  Madam Pomfrey had taken down the screen between Remus and Sirius to facilitate her coming and going between them.  Snape stopped as he caught sight of Sirius; his brows drew together in puzzlement.

"What's Black doing here?" he asked.  "And what happened to him?"

"You didn't bring him back, too?" Hermione said, surprised.

Snape shook his head and then shrugged it off, saying,

"I'm sure Albus has an explanation."

Unfortunately, Sirius Black chose that exact moment to open his eyes.  It took a moment for everything to come into focus, but when it did, all he saw was Severus Snape standing over his best friend's bed.  All the pain, rage, and frustration of the last four days bubbled violently to the surface, and he shot out of bed with a growl.  He rocketed at the dark-haired menace, the pain in his body dulled by adrenaline, and tackled him to the floor.  He wrapped his hands around the shocked man's neck and squeezed, vowing, as he saw the pale flesh red and crushed beneath his fingers, that they'd have to pry his hands off with a crowbar long after Severus Snape was dead. 

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

Narcissa knew she should have looked for Draco.  But how on earth was she supposed to flee from the Dementors and find her son at the same time?  It had all happened so suddenly…she'd been lying in the dewy grass in post-coital bliss with Camilla, and then all hell had broken loose.  Screams, unearthly sounds that had to have come from the Dementors, and then Nott had been thrown down near them hard enough for them to hear the crack of his ribs.  She and Camilla had tripped over each other trying to grab their robes and run away at the same time.  And then she'd felt the cold, slimy hand around her ankle, and she'd added her own scream to the cacophony.

Camilla (who was a thousand times more intelligent than her husband) had had the presence of mind to give the Dementor a good kick in the head, at which point it had hissed and let go.  She'd been pulled along through the darkness in numb shock.

"'Cissa, let's _go!_" Camilla had shouted, having found her husband among the scattering crowd.

"Dra—Lucius!" she'd recovered at the last moment, looking around wildly for a flash of white-blond hair.

"He'll be fine, he can take care of himself!  He's probably gone already!"  And then she'd felt the tingle along her spine that told her a Dementor was closing in on her, and Camilla had shouted, "'CISSA!  GO!"

And she had.  She'd apparated back to the Manor, spending a moment doubled over with her hands on her knees in the gardens to recover her breath, and hoped against all hope that Draco had had the presence of mind to do the same.  Then she'd remembered that Draco was too young to apparate.

She didn't feel nearly as panicked as she should have.  _He's a Malfoy_, her mind had said.  _He knows how to take care of himself_.  And then she'd given into her fatigue and passed out, naked under her robe, next to Lucius's still figure.

She was half-awake now, and could see the sunlight glowing orange behind her eyelids.  She'd thrown off the robe early in the morning because heat was radiating off her husband, stifling her.  He was cooler now, but not by much.  If he had rambled last night, she'd been in too deep of a sleep to hear.

The Manor was silent even now.  She hoped that meant that Draco was safe and asleep in his room, the Polyjuice worn off.  She knew she ought to go look, or at least send a house elf, but she was so comfortable…

Once again, Narcissa let herself doze.  She probably would have slept long into the afternoon if not for the cold voice and burning pain in her forearm that woke her sometime later.

"Narcissa."

She jerked awake with a gasp of pain.  The Mark was burning with more intensity than she'd ever felt, save for that night that Voldemort had been reduced to almost nothing by an infant.

"My…Lord…" she choked out, sliding off the bed gracelessly to kneel – no, more like cower – before the Dark Wizard Voldemort.  She'd never seen him in the light before; it made him all the more terrifying.  Sunlight flooded in through the window behind him, illuminating the thin, sinister, red-eyed wizard in a blinding blaze of liquid fire.

"Tell me, Narcissa," he said, sounding as if he was bored.  He nudged one foot forward, and she obediently leaned down to kiss it.  "Where was Lucius last night?"

"He was present, my Lord," she answered, her voice quivering.

"Now, now, Narcissa, lying is not becoming of you."  A burning stab of pain accompanied the chastising words.

"I swear to you, my Lord, he was with me!" she gasped, her tone plaintive.

"_Crucio_," Voldemort said in a leisurely tone, waving his wand with a disinterested flick of the wrist.  Pain radiated through her body, and screams built up in her throat.  She couldn't release them, though; the pain held her too tightly, erasing any conscious control she had over her body.  

"Now," the Dark Wizard continued as the curse tapered off, "such measures would not be necessary but for one odd little development.  I do not doubt my eyes, and they tell me that I did indeed see Lucius last night, as well as I see him now.  But tell me, dear Narcissa, why he would not answer my summons?  I have been calling him through the Mark for hours.  Even now, he reacts to nothing.  Can you explain that to me, Narcissa?" Voldemort said, running a yellowed fingernail over her flushed cheek with deceptive gentleness.

Narcissa's eyes welled and spilled over.  Even Voldemort could sometimes be swayed by a woman's tears, as long as they were flowing from one of his pureblood fillies.  And she certainly was well-practiced in getting what she wanted through emotional hysterics.  

"My Lord!" she sobbed, grasping at the hem of her Master's robes.  "He isn't well and I didn't know what to do!"

"I see."

"He passed out early last night and hasn't awakened since.  He's just been babbling and thrashing and burning up and he won't wake!"

"And he doesn't respond to potions?"

"I tried Pepperup, and nothing," she sniffled.

"Have you called a doctor?"

She shook her head.

"I…I apologize, my Lord.  I did not think it wise to alert anyone else of his condition."

"Not even his Master…and yours?"

At this she burst into a fresh tide of tears.

"I'm afraid, my Lord!  I didn't know what to do!"

"You needed only to tell me, Narcissa.  But I would like to know who you did bring to the Revel?"

"Draco, my Lord.  I made him drink Polyjuice."

"Ah.  I assume he escaped the Dementors?"

"I…I don't know."

"He's a Malfoy.  I'm sure he's fine, wherever he is."

"Thank you, my Lord," she said, bowing low to kiss his boots once again.

"Rise," Voldemort said a moment later.  She did as she was told, standing and rubbing tears from her eyes.  She had forgotten up until this point that she was completely nude.  In fact, she still had blades of grass stuck to her in some places.  It didn't bother her; she'd always been an exhibitionist at heart, and her clothing never stayed on long at a Revel.  But still, she could not help but notice that the Dark Lord's eyes lingered just a moment too long.

"I will have a look at him," Voldemort said archly.  "You may go about your business."

"Yes, my Lord," she said softly, bowing.

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

"Sirius!  Sirius Black, let him go!  Stop that, you'll kill him!" Madam Pomfrey bellowed.

Harry thought to himself that that was exactly the point, and also that he didn't disagree with Sirius, but pulled at Sirius with all his strength anyway.  There was no use in Sirius going back to Azkaban for killing Snape when Voldemort would probably do them the favor soon enough.

"Merlin, he's strong!" Ron gasped, trying to dislodge Sirius's other arm.  And indeed Sirius was; he was in a blind rage, his entire being focused on exterminating the man that had made the last few days so horrible for him and Moony.  Anger gave the impoverished body strength, and adrenaline gave him the endurance to hold on in spite of Harry and Ron, who weren't exactly little boys anymore.

"Can't you get a shot?" Hermione shouted over the struggle.

"I'm afraid I'll hit the wrong person!" Pomfrey returned, her wand wavering as she looked for an opening in the tangle of bodies.

"It won't matter in a minute!" Hermione returned.  It was the truth; Snape had stopped struggling already.  He was as limp as a rag doll as Sirius renewed his grip.

"Here goes!" Pomfrey shouted, raising her wand.

At that moment, however, another person joined the fray.  Before anyone knew what was happening, Sirius, Harry, and Ron were all falling backwards.  Hermione managed to dodge Pomfrey's spell, and it smashed into the stone wall with a sizzle.

"Bloody idiot!" Draco Malfoy was practically screaming.  "He saved him!  He saved your stupid werewolf friend, and he'd save you too, even though he can't stand you!"

"He's a traitor!" Sirius cried hoarsely, pointing a shaking finger at Snape.  "You bloody Slytherins are all the same!"

"I'm not the one that tried to kill him!" Draco shot back.  Hermione wondered how in the hell Draco knew about that, but then she remembered his father.  Certainly Lucius Malfoy would impart such stories on his son.  "As far as I'm concerned, you should still be in Azkaban!" Draco continued.

"Sod off, Malfoy!" Harry snarled, stepping forward.  "It's none of your damn business.  Why don't you just slither back to your dormitory to hang out with your Death Eater cronies?"

"I am _not_ a Death Eater!" Draco shouted, so loudly that his voice echoed off the high stone ceiling.  "Do you want to see the proof?  Here's the proof!" he continued, savagely jerking at the sleeve of his left arm – still the sleeve of his father's robe - and exposing it.  The skin was very obviously unmarred by the Dark Mark.  "Are you happy now, you stupid Golden Boy?  What about you, Weasley?  Does this make your life a little bit easier?  Well won't everyone be glad that the Boy Who Lived and his Dream Team has one less enemy!"  

His eyes narrowed and his face took on an expression that none of them had ever seen before – fierce, wounded indignance.  They'd never seen Draco in such disarray, both emotionally and physically.  Harry was momentarily speechless, his jaw working as he searched for a retort.  

"Screw you, Harry Potter!" Draco spat at last, pushing past them and running out of the infirmary with his head down.  Harry and Ron shared a confused look, but were quickly interrupted by a groan from Sirius.

"He's not breathing!" Pomfrey shrilled from Snape's side as Harry and Ron helped Sirius back onto his bed.  "Hermione, do you know Muggle CPR?"

"Y…yes!" she stammered, flustered by the chaotic scene.  She'd learned it in her school before Hogwarts.

"Then get over here, there are some things that magic just can't do!"

Hermione made it to them in two steps and fell on her knees.  She looked at Snape and then at Pomfrey; she wasn't sure what the mediwitch wanted her to do. 

"What—" she started.

"Do you want to do the breathing or the Innervate?"

"Um..uh…um…"

Well, she'd already had her hands all over him today.  Why not take it one step further and practically snog him?

"The breathing," she answered, scooting closer to him and tilting his chin up.  Pomfrey looked faintly surprised, but recovered quickly.

"All right, give a breath when I say," she said, positioning the tip of her wand over Snape's heart.  Hermione nodded and leaned down, taking a deep breath and preparing herself to seal her lips over the bluish ones of her Potions professor.

_Life is so odd…_ she thought just before Pomfrey barked the order to breathe.  She pinched his nose and closed the distance between them, slanting her mouth firmly over his without a trace of hesitation.  She breathed, watching his chest rise and hearing Madam Pomfrey cry, "_Innervate!_"  His body jerked slightly – the Innervate spell acted much like a Muggle defibrillator, sending a small jolt of electricity through the person.  Usually it was a small enough surge to simply rouse them from a state of unconsciousness, but its power could be increased enough to jump-start a failing heart.  Hermione felt the tingle of electricity in her lips, but didn't worry about it; Pomfrey would never have her do this if it in any way endangered her.  She breathed again and felt his body tighten against the small electrical surge.  Still nothing.  

_He can't die like this!_, she thought, giving him another breath.  This was so utterly wrong, so undignified…she knew that he hadn't tried to hurt Sirius or Remus.  Something had happened to them, to be sure, but Snape hadn't played a part in it.  At least not a willing part.  Of course any death Severus Snape was destined to die would most likely be slow, painful, grisly, and utterly devoid of dignity, but…

His body jerked more strongly this time, and she felt suction against her mouth as he tried to breathe.  She pulled back and he gasped for air, his hand finding its way into the fabric of her robe and clutching.  He whispered something as his unfocused eyes settled on her, something she couldn't quite make out.  Then his eyes slipped closed again and he struggled to breathe.  Pomfrey sighed audibly with relief, sitting back on her heels and wiping sweat from her brow.  As Snape drew several shallow, noisy breaths, a stern voice rang out through the infirmary.

"What in the name of Merlin is going on here?"

"Minerva!" Pomfrey said, pulling herself to her feet and brushing herself off.  "So glad you came.  Mr. Black had a little temper tantrum and nearly killed our Potions Master!"

McGonagall's eyes went first to Sirius's pale, shaking form – the pain had caught up with him by now – to Snape, lying on the floor next to Hermione.  The finger-shaped bruises blooming on his neck made it impossible to deny that Sirius had indeed attempted to strangle the life out of him.

"Mr. Black!  What is the meaning of this?" the Deputy Headmistress demanded, a deep frown carving itself into her weathered features.  

"He poisoned the Wolfsbane!  Remus drank it and he was sick, he couldn't move or eat or do anything for three days!  He was so weak!  He looked like he was on his death bed.  And then when the moon came, he changed fully anyway!  I wasn't expecting it, and he attacked me as the wolf, and I managed to change into Padfoot at the last second and escape.  Don't you see!?  It was sabotage!  He was trying to weaken both of us enough for the Death Eaters to be able to capture us.  And they got Remus, and I bet he had a jolly good time torturing him!  Bastard!" Sirius ranted.

"And what proof do you have of this, Sirius?"

"What more proof do I need?  He brews the potion!"

"He has brewed the potion for almost two years now, and he has never erred.  Don't you think it would be a little out of character for Severus to botch a potion?"

"He didn't botch it, he poisoned it!  On purpose!"

"Why on earth would he do that, Sirius?"

"Because he's a traitor!"

"I didn't poison the Wolfsbane," Snape rasped.  "I made it the same way I always do, and nothing was amiss."

"Bullshit," Sirius said, scowling fiercely.  "You were just looking for a way to get back at Moony and I!  It makes perfect sense.  You want me dead for almost killing you back in school, and Remus dead for what he did to Selena!"

There was a pause.  Then,

"What?"  It was amazing; in spite of the destroyed state of his vocal chords, Snape still managed to sound thoroughly menacing.

Sirius was silent, realizing that he may have said too much.  Snape was on his feet in an instant and he looked positively murderous.

"What did that creature do to my sister?"

Hermione's heart lurched; his question had barely been a whisper.  She thought she'd seen Snape angry, but apparently he was going to prove her wrong.

"You…you don't know…" Sirius said haltingly.

"Obviously I don't if I'm asking the likes of YOU."

"I…I thought she'd tell you.  I thought she had remembered…"

"_What _did he do to her?"

"It wasn't him!"

"You clearly stated a moment ago that REMUS LUPIN did something to MY SISTER that was severe enough for me to want him dead.  You had better tell me before I wake him up and extract it from him myself."

"It wasn't him!  It was…it was the wolf.  I know it was!  Remus never would've…"

"I think you should start explaining, Mr. Black," McGonagall spoke up, crossing her arms over her chest and giving him a look that said she would tolerate no argument.

Sirius was momentarily panicked.  He looked up at Harry.  Harry gave him a sympathetic look and shrugged his shoulders.

"Well…um…you know that Remus and Selena were friends, and sometimes she'd come into the Tower to study with him…"

He paused, closing his eyes and exhaling shakily, lifting his hands to massage his temples.

"I…when I was in hiding last year, after I broke out of Azkaban…I read a lot, because there wasn't much else to do.  I learned as much as I could about werewolves, because, well, it's good to know about them when you're friends with one…So, what I found out was that…if a werewolf hasn't found a mate by the time it reaches physical maturity he'll have an insatiable urge to, um, sleep with the first available female.  That is, assuming he's a born werewolf and not a made one.  In the case of a made werewolf, he'll retain the slightly more human urge to at least bed someone he's familiar with or cares for.  I don't really know how to say this, but…Remus was in love with her.  And…it went a little further than friendship a few times.  She was in his bed more than once.  I don't think she let it go too far, but there was definitely some snogging and petting."

"While she was with Lucius?  Or before?" Snape asked incredulously.

"While." 

"Of course I don't approve of a Gryffindor having his hands all over my sister, but that's hardly reason enough for me to want to kill him!"

"Well…um…Remus reached that point, and he didn't have a mate, and…gods, I should have known that something was off that day, his eyes were almost gold!  They only get that way when he's having trouble controlling the wolf.  But…he invited her to study that night.  I guess I'll make a long story short.  He dosed her drink with a bit of sleeping draught.  She passed out.  He carried her up to the dorm and laid her in his bed.  When she woke up, he gave her some water.  Only it was laced with a lust potion…and he…they…" Sirius made gestures with his hands, losing the words.

"He took advantage of her," Snape finished for him.  His hands curled into fists at his sides.

"Oh, Merlin," McGonagall breathed.

"I swear to you, Severus, it was the wolf.  It wasn't Remus!  He cared for her too much.  He nearly pummeled me this one time I insulted her.  Lord, he even got annoyed when I'd make fun of you!  He didn't hurt her, I swear he didn't.  With the potion, it was mutual."

"The fact that she wasn't hurt _physically_ doesn't erase the fact that she was _drugged _against her will and used like some convenient prostitute!"

"Severus, he didn't even know he'd done it!  When he woke up in the morning he thought it had happened all on its own and he was the luckiest person in the world!  The only way we knew any better was from the potions vials."

"So your friend _raped_ my sister, and what did you do, Black?  You altered her memories and sent her on her way with no idea what had happened to her, straight back to her boyfriend who was already in a very tenuous mental state so that he could discover bite marks on her back and thighs and assume that she'd been cheating on him and cause him to break off their engagement and the entire relationship as a matter of fact, and he, believing that his trust had been broken for nothing more than a half-blood whore, became increasingly cold and distant and eventually threw his life away in the service of Voldemort!  What a delightful chain of events you started, Black!"

"What was I suppose to do?  You would've covered for Lucius if he screwed up!"

"Lucius wouldn't have done such a thing in the first place!"

"Look, Remus is my best friend!  If I had told anyone, he would have been expelled!  He wouldn't have been able to get an education anywhere, and his life would be nothing!  There was no way I was just going to rat him out like that!  And for your information, I obliviated him, too.  Neither of them even knows it happened."

"How good of you to spare poor Lupin from such terrible memories."

"You know as well as I that he's terrified of hurting anyone!  He'd tear himself apart if he knew!"

"Oh yes, and that's why you nearly set him on me back then.  Far be it for me to care about his feelings, but did you ever stop to think about what it would do to him if he actually killed someone?  It doesn't seem to me that you cared one bit about his feelings that night."

"I was stupid!  I didn't think you'd come!"

"You knew I would come!  I know you're not as stupid as you pretend to be, Black."  Snape shook his head slowly, his dark gaze never leaving Sirius.  "You know, I thought I had reason to hate you before, Black.  But now I see that all that was just nonsense.  If I were you, Black," he said, his voice dripping with malice, "I would get as far away from this school as possible.  And don't expect any more Wolfsbane.  I'll not brew it for a rapist."

"He's not--!"

"HE IS!  Make all the concessions you want, Black.  It won't change a thing.  Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to my chambers."

"Severus!  You're not well yet!" Pomfrey chastised, stepping into his path.

"I can sweat out a fever just as well in my own rooms as I can here," he said, stepping around her.

At that moment, the infirmary door opened and two people stepped through.  Dumbledore and…a blond, dreadlocked man in Muggle clothing?  Hermione frowned, but couldn't help staring at the visitor.  He was…_gorgeous_.  Piercing blue-grey eyes, tanned skin, tall and lean with killer fashion sense – there was not a single ugly or awkward bone in this man's body.

Snape stopped abruptly, glancing at Dumbledore for only a moment before staring openly at the blond man.  The other man stared back, his gaze clear and unwavering, completely unafraid.

"Our friend here stormed into the Great Hall a few moments ago demanding to see Severus and Selena Snape," Dumbledore said, gesturing to the pale-haired visitor.

"Who--?" Snape started, sounding bewildered.

"Mrow."

A loud purr brought everyone's attention to the pure white cat that stalked forward.  They watched as it twined around Snape's ankles, rubbing itself against the pantlegs ostentatiously.  It yowled at him once before rubbing its head along the top of his bare foot, unquestionably scenting him as his own.

Snape crouched slowly, raising a hand to smooth over the silky white fur.  The cat purred and pressed up into the caress, arching its back and turning its head to lick at Severus's arm.

"Apollo," Snape said, picking up the cat as he stood and holding the white bundle against his chest.

"Ah, so you remember him.  I'm sure he's glad," the stranger said, tilting his head slightly to the side.  As if on cue, the cat purred loudly.  "Now the question is," he went on, "do you remember me?" 

Severus squinted at him, frowning.  There were so many questions!  He knew that Selena had taken Apollo when she'd gone back to Russia so many years ago.  But who was this man?  Perhaps her boyfriend?  No, it couldn't be…she'd tell him something like that.  A family member?  No, that was out of the question.  No one in the family had hair that blond.  Come to think of it, why on earth did this man look so much like…Lucius?  Although the Muggle clothing and unusual hairstyle made it difficult to imagine him as a wizard, he could easily pass as a Malfoy.  And there was no Malfoy that he could be…unless…

"Cassius?" he said hesitantly.  It was a long shot; he hadn't seen Cassius since the youngest Malfoy had been eight or nine, and supposedly he'd perished with the rest of the Malfoys on that fateful night, but they'd never found a body…

A sad smile broke out on the visitor's face and he nodded.

"Cassius Malfoy.  It's been a long time, hasn't it, Severus?"

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

So it had finally broken.

Honestly, he hadn't expected it to last this long, but Lucius was surprisingly weak-minded.  Or perhaps it was something else altogether; maybe it had been what he wanted.  No, more likely it was the only thing he had left.

He had become dependent on it.  That much was obvious.  His symptoms were much like withdrawal from a drug addiction; fever, headache, hallucinations…but for him there was no waking phase, and things would not be improving.  No, unless he renewed the charm, Lucius Malfoy was a vegetable.

He rather liked that idea.  But then again, he also liked using Lucius as his puppet.  He lived vicariously through him.  Yes, through Lucius he could do just about anything – manipulate the Ministry, tailor Draco to become the next beautiful pureblood marionette, and indulge in all the pleasures of the flesh that one such as himself could not easily do.  Yes, Lucius was stunning and had such a carefully crafted façade of innocence and goodness.  But what was even more beautiful was the blackness within him, the glorious, splendid rot of dark magic.  Amazing, that one so fair could hold such midnight within his soul.

Very handy, the Imperius charm.  When it was used as a curse, it wore off in a manner of hours.  It also had obvious symptoms – to an experienced onlooker, it was hardly a challenge to identify someone under the influence of the curse.  Very few people in the wizarding world knew that it could also be converted into a charm; smaller, more discrete, more insidious, and with infinite longevity.  It was difficult to do and required an immense amount of power, but the results were most definitely worth it.

It had gleaned twenty years of mindless obedience out of Lucius Malfoy.  Without it, he had no identity.  Indeed, if Voldemort didn't renew the charm in a few days, he'd probably die of starvation.  There was something very satisfying about a helpless Malfoy; there was no denying the tingle of pleasure he felt at the base of his spine simply from knowing that Lucius could not even claw his way to consciousness without his Master.

So…should he renew the Imperius charm?  Or should he let Lucius wither away in St. Mungo's, lying comatose in a hospital bed until he was nothing more than skin and bones, a shadow of the dashing, influential man he'd once been?  Both options seemed appetizing.

He'd have to take some time to think about this one.  He looked around for Narcissa; she was nowhere to be found.  She'd disappeared very quickly.  She was a strange one…one of the only servants he had that he couldn't entirely read like an open book.  She'd been devoted to him even before her marriage to Lucius.  In fact, she'd been bait for Lucius.  He'd had her transferred to Hogwarts less than a month after the inevitable breakup.  Lucius had still been slightly resistant to the charm, but he was also a man on the rebound.  And Narcissa was everything that the Snape girl was not; a pureblood, a cool, collected, calculating Slytherin beauty.  It had taken barely a month to seduce Lucius, and three months after graduation, they had married.  Draco had come three years later.  He'd baptized the pale-haired infant himself in a font of virgin's blood.

Through all this, he still had no idea if Narcissa actually felt anything for Lucius.  Sometimes she acted as if she did, and other times it seemed that she couldn't care less about the welfare of her husband.  She would be better off if she didn't give him a second thought.

Nevertheless, he made a mental note to watch her more closely.  She certainly seemed like she had an agenda of her own.  People like that were always dangerous.

His feet had led him to the basement.  Good; the multiple instruments of torture within the vaulted walls would help him think.  The Dark Lord pressed a finger to the lock and murmured a quick _Alohomora_.  The door swung open and he strode into the all-purpose torture chamber, his lips already tweaking into a smile at the sight of the first perfectly polished contraption.  He ran long, thin fingers down the nasty-looking blade; it left a tiny line of blackened blood on his fingertips.  Lucius maintained these instruments well; he could split a hair on the edge if he wanted to.  Point for Lucius.

"Hello?  Is…is that you, Lucius?"

The smirk was gone in an instant.  That wasn't Narcissa's voice.  It was a male voice, too deep to be Draco's…and too accented to be anyone from England.

"Lucius?  Vat's going on?  Is that you?"

Karkaroff.  Igor Karkaroff.  Voldemort's red eyes narrowed to slits.  Lucius had been defying him.  He'd found a way around the charm.  He was hiding Igor Karkaroff, the biggest traitor in the Circle, in his basement.  Voldemort strode forward more quickly, following the confused voice.  It led him to the one furnished room in the labyrinthine basement; it had a fireplace, a bar, and several scattered pillows, poufs, and sleep couches.  It was most often used for defiling Muggle virgins or mudbloods, and the sanguine scent of violation hung heavy about it, a most delightful perfume.

He would see that it was re-christened with Igor Karkaroff's blood tonight.

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

The reunion had been brief and full of questions, and even an uncharacteristic hug, but once the shock had worn off, Severus had gone back to his usual stiff demeanor.  He didn't want to spend any more time in Black and Lupin's presence than he had to.  He was still seething and didn't want to do anything he might later regret.  Although when it came to wiping Sirius Black off the face of the earth, he wasn't sure that he _would_ regret it.  And as for Lupin…well, truthfully he didn't know what to think.  Of course he was angry, but it hadn't set in yet.  His body was still traumatized and his mind was not in its usual state.

If any of the students thought it odd for their Potions Master to be walking around the castle in an unbuttoned shirt and a state of total disarray in the company of a man who looked very much like a Muggle, none of them had the gumption to say anything.  They walked quickly, speaking in low, subdued Russian.  Cassius could not help but express his amazement at the castle; he'd always heard about it, but this was the first time he was seeing it for himself.

"What is that?" Cassius asked upon entering Snape's office.

"What's what?" Severus asked tiredly.

"That.  On the desk."

Severus turned and looked, his gaze following Cassius's outstretched hand.

"Oh," was all he could say.  He strode over to the desk and placed his palms on the polished wood on either side of the box that now occupied it, leaning heavily.

"Well?"

"It's Selena's," he said, plucking the first object out of the box and examining it.  "This is her stuffed animal from when she was young.  There's a note…" he said with a frown, unfolding the scrap of parchment.  He read as he skimmed, "Severus, here are your sister's possessions.  She won't be needing them in Azkaban.  Yours, C. Fudge.  Bastard."

"Azkaban!  She's in Azkaban?!" Cassius nearly screamed.

Severus collapsed into his chair, tossing the paper to the floor.

"It's a long story.  Believe me, Cassius, I did everything I could to stop it."

"That explains the letter she sent me," the blond man said, digging into his pocket and producing a battered piece of parchment.  He handed it to Severus and let him read.  Severus sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Meanwhile, Cassius picked up the threadbare plush toy.  The black paint had been kissed off its nose, and its white fur was scuffed and greyed with wear.  The spots were barely visible, but he could still tell that it had once been a Dalmatian.  

"Lucius played some part in this, didn't he," Cassius said softly, stroking the fur absently.  Severus's eyes flickered up to his troubled face.

"Yes," he said honestly.  "It was entirely his doing."

Cassius sighed heavily.

"Severus, what the hell happened to him?"

"The same thing that happened to all of us."

"I think it was something more."

"I don't know, Cassius."

The blond man shook his head and set the Dalmatian down on the table.  There was a clink as he did so, a loud one, as if something solid was coming into contact with the wooden desk.

"What in the hell?" Severus exclaimed, picking up the stuffed animal.  He shook it gently and frowned as he felt a strange weight in the stomach.  He turned the tattered dog over in his hands; sure enough there was a barely visible seam on its underbelly.  "There's something in here."

Cassius flicked his hand and the seam unwound.  Severus glanced at him incredulously.

"You do know magic."

"How could I not?"

"Wandless?"

"I can do everything but apparate.  I flew here."

"She taught you?"

"Yes, right under the family's nose."

Severus shook his head and delved into the stuffed animal's stomach.  Foam, stuffing, more stuffing…and something cool and smooth and circular.  His brows furrowed as he pulled it out along with a few puffs of the wispy stuffing.

"What is that?" Cassius asked, looking puzzled.

Severus set it on the desk, watching as the oily liquid inside the small glass globe shifted and ribboned.  Its colors were not so brilliant in the dimly lit dungeon office, but it still looked every bit like the tail feathers of a peacock.

_As long as you have this in your possession, I promise to live._

He had said that not even a week ago.  It would seem that the promise was broken.  Severus bit his bottom lip and frowned intensely.  Of course she wouldn't have been able to take it into Azkaban.  They took away everything, even non-magical things, and without a wand, she couldn't conceal it.  So the promise was broken.  It didn't really mean anything, did it?  It had just been a stupid promise, something he said to appease her.  Some pointless verbal pact wasn't going to make a difference in the grand scheme of things…after all, he could have been killed last night when the Dementors came.  Although…by last night, the Dalmatian, and in conjunction the globe, had been taken away from her.

A sudden wave of dizziness overtook him, and a small gasp from Cassius told him that it wasn't the world that was moving, it was him.

"Shit, Severus," Cassius said as he righted the pale man in his chair.  "You're burning up."

"I'm fine."

"Look, I don't know what happened to you, but you need to rest."

"There's no time to rest, _Mum_."

"You're not going to be able do anyone any good if you don't give your body time to recover.  You want to help Selena, right?  You're useless if you're not in top physical condition," the blond man said, holding out a hand.

Severus ignored the proffered hand and stood.  He was the picture of health for a second, until a spasm in his back caused him to slouch and cringe.  Cassius moved to help him, but was thwarted by an acidic glance and a sharp tongue.

"Don't even, Malfoy.  I am not an invalid.  I can make it to my own bloody bed by myself."

"Fine, fine, I was just trying to help," Cassius said, holding his hands up defensively, but still staying close in case Severus's legs decided not to cooperate.

Severus snorted and was about to make his way to his bedroom – and he'd never admit it out loud, but how wonderful the thought of his own bed was at the moment! – when there was a timid knock at the door.

"Professor Snape, sir, I heard you'd left the Infirmary…I just wanted to…" Draco Malfoy trailed off, looking confused.  "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

            "It's all right.  Actually, Draco, it's a good thing you're here.  You need to meet someone," Snape said, nodding towards Cassius.  He was greeted with two wary and highly confused looks from almost identical pairs of eyes; the only real difference was that Draco's eyes were more grey.

            "Severus?" Cassius asked softly, frowning.  He had asked that the students not know who he was or why he was there; he thought it better to leave dead men dead and not stir up any more controversy in such a turbulent time.

            "Draco, meet Cassius Malfoy.  He's your uncle.  And Cassius, meet Draco Malfoy, Lucius's son and your nephew."

Draco was the first to break the stunned silence.

"That's impossible.  My father doesn't have any brothers."

"He doesn't, does he?"  Cassius said with a small, sad smile.

"None that are alive," Draco amended.  "I've been to the grave sites.  Although…he did say that one was only an empty casket, because they never found the body…"  Draco looked up with huge, questioning eyes.

"You look very much like Lucius," Cassius said softly.

"So…so do you."

"Do you believe me now?" Snape asked.

Draco's eyes narrowed at the question.  The boy seemed to have a mood swing in mid-thought, and very suddenly the venomous side took over.

"You can't be a Malfoy.  A Malfoy would never wear Muggle clothing or walk around looking like that.  You'd be an embarrassment to the family name and the entire pureblood race!  So forgive me for not believing that some hippie Muggle lover is my uncle!"

And with that, he stormed out, leaving Snape wide-eyed and surprised and Cassius with a faintly hurt expression on his face.

"Charming," Cassius said, putting his hands in his pockets and frowning.

"He's had a rough couple of days, Cassius.  He isn't like that all the time.  You can't blame a child for his father's prejudices."

"No, I suppose not," he sighed.  "I would have worn robes, but I don't have any."

"I don't think it would have made a difference.  A lot of things have happened to him.  He has a lot to think about.  Let's hope he leans the right way."

"Yes, let's."  Cassius sighed again and flipped a lock of hair over his shoulder.  "You know, Selena never told me Lucius had children."

"And she never told me that she was raising you."

"I guess what they say about women is true."

"What's that?"

"That they all have their secrets."

"It's not just women, Cassius.  It's everyone.  I'm going to retire…I assume Dumbledore's given you a room?"

"Yes." 

"He'll see that you have robes, too.  We'll speak more tomorrow."

"All right.  If you need anything…"

"I'm fine.  Merlin, I'm beginning to feel like I'm surrounded by a bunch of mother hens."

Cassius smiled.

"It's really good to see you again, Severus."

"And you, Cassius.  Sometimes it does a world of good when a man rises from the dead.  I'll try to speak to Draco for you, if you want."

"I'd appreciate it.  Good night, Severus."

"Good night."

Severus closed the door to his personal chambers softly, leaning against it for a moment.  He couldn't stop thinking about the little glass ball on his desk.  He'd made Selena a promise, and it had only been half-sincere.  But that truthful part of him did feel better with her around.  He felt, somehow, that with her there, he was safer and everything was going to be all right.  Naïve and completely irrational.  How could his sister – his _sister_! – possibly protect him?  She couldn't even protect herself…

He stumbled to his bed with anger churning through his veins.  Oh, if he had any energy at all, he'd go upstairs and kick the shit out of Black and Lupin…  But he didn't have any energy.  He barely had the strength to strip and slide underneath the satin covers.

He whispered a spell and the lights went out, leaving him in cool, complete darkness.  His body was so tired, so desperately tired…but his mind was a hurricane, alive with a thousand spinning thoughts.  Thoughts of Selena, Lupin, Black, Draco, the Granger girl – what had she been _thinking_, touching him like that?! – Cassius, Lucius…

The last thing he thought before his mind shut down out of sheer exhaustion was that fate had a funny way of holding him to his promises. 

A/N – Hey kids, just wanted to say that this chapter totally ran away on me…I think this is officially taking a bit of an SS/HG turn.  Hope you enjoy!  I have a break coming up in a week or so, so expect the next chapter then.  Enjoy and don't forget to review!  3~ SPF


	16. Breakout

_Severus stretched in a decidedly catlike manner; his mood had been more playful as of late, affected as only a man in love could be.  Moira hadn't stayed over last night, but he'd slept blissfully anyway.  That was rare; he'd never been a heavy sleeper.  In fact, a 'lie-in' for him didn't usually last past nine or ten in the morning.  But it was already a few minutes past __noon__._

_He inferred, as he stood up and lazily scratched a few strategic areas, that his father must not be home.  He generally didn't tolerate lie-ins, which was one of the main sources of friction between him and Selena.  She was a night person; she rarely got to bed before two in the morning.  But oh, did she love her sleep.  Severus was a night person, too, but for some reason required much less sleep than his sister to function properly.  He smirked to himself thinking of how unpolished Selena was in the morning.  Now that she was captain of the Ravenclaw quidditch team, there was an unspoken rule against early morning practices.  Anyone who even suggested it was likely to have a bludger tossed unceremoniously in his or her direction._

_"Mum thinks you had too much to drink last night," a voice said from his doorway.  Hell must have frozen over, for Selena Snape had awakened before her brother._

_"Regrettably, I had nothing to drink last night," he retorted, turning his boxer-clad bum to her and rooting through his drawers.  The floors downstairs were cold in the winter, and socks were a good idea.  He finally found a decent pair of grey wool socks and pulled them on.  Selena chuckled and he turned, giving her his best 'I resent being stared at when I've just woken up' look._

_"You look like someone who should be wandering about on Knockturn Alley," she snickered.  Severus turned toward the mirror and glanced at himself; he had to admit that she was right.  He did look somewhat disheveled in his wrinkled boxers (lower on one hip than the other), slouching socks, and sleep-mussed hair._

_"Well, if Mum thinks I'm hungover, I might as well play the part."_

_"Put some pants on.  It's snowing and Mum hasn't lit the fireplace yet.  You'll freeze your bits off."_

_"Delightful imagery."___

_"Hey, I'm just looking out for you.  Moira would be awfully disappointed if you…"_

_"Point taken.__  What's for breakfast?"_

_"Lunch."___

_"Whatever."_

_"Chicken __Kiev__."___

_"Oooh."___

_Severus pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms quickly, hopping halfway across the floor as he attempted to balance with one leg on and one off.__  Selena chuckled._

_"Idiot.__  You really do look drunk."_

_Severus turned toward her, running a hand through his hair to tame it.  One of his eyebrows went up and he got a dangerous look on his face.  Selena knew it all too well._

_"No no NO…!" her cry rose into a good-natured shriek as Severus tackled her and slung her over his shoulder like a broom._

_"You're getting the Typewriter when we get downstairs," he said, responding to her attempts to give him a wedgie by giving her one of her own._

_"I'll fight you!" she said, laughing and kicking._

_"You're powerless against the Typewriter!" he said, dumping her abruptly onto the living room carpet.  She struggled, but he was stronger and managed to pin her arms down and assume the necessary position.  He raised his hands and was about to begin his "letter" when-- _

_"Severus!  Leave your sister alone!"_

_"She asked for it!" he retorted smugly._

_"I'm sure she did but I don't feel like cleaning up after you two ruin the living room!  Now get your arses in here and have lunch before I give it to the dogs!  Honestly, your eleven-year-old brother is more mature than the both of you! "_

_The debate was clear on Severus's face; he loved chicken __Kiev__, but it wasn't often that he got the opportunity to beat on his sister.  He looked down at her, his eyes narrowing._

_"You," he said, pressing his pointer finger right between her eyes, "have an appointment with the Typewriter later."  And then he got up and padded casually to the kitchen, leaving Selena stretched out on the floor.  She smiled to herself.  Amazing, what a good woman could do to an uptight man._

_By the time she made it into the kitchen, Alex was already flicking bits of food at Severus.  Severus studiously ignored him, and Selena smirked.  It seemed that Alex would turn out more like her.  That meant more annoyance for Severus._

_"Alex!  Stop that!  There are starving people in __Odessa__ that would love that food you're wasting!"_

_Oh, but Mum had sharp eyes.  Severus stole a glance at Selena out of the corner of his eye.  She was wearing a Cheshire cat smirk and watching him, although not obviously.  He knew what she was thinking.  He stabbed emphatically at a bit of chicken, frowning for a moment.  Haughty bitch.  But even as he thought it, he smirked around his fork._

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

Severus woke slowly and with difficulty.  The first thing he realized was that his throat hurt; in fact, not just his throat but his entire neck.  Bugger…he should have let Pomfrey fuss over him for a few more minutes.  Stupid Black.  Goddamned Lupin.  Bloody Potter and Weasley.  Bugger all of them.

He felt rather like he had a hangover.  His head pounded insistently, as did every inch of his musculature.  He was getting much too old for this sort of exertion.  Well…at least he wouldn't have to trouble himself every month hunched over a cauldron of Wolfsbane anymore.

That thought was not as comforting as he thought it would be.  It was still difficult to believe that Lupin had done…_that_…to his sister.  Lupin was a gentle man in spite of his lycanthropy.  And even though he was sure that that little fact wouldn't have saved him had James Potter not pulled him away from the Shrieking Shack that night, in the back of his mind it still seemed to matter for something.  Exactly what, he didn't know.

He rolled over onto his side, cringing and wishing that he had thought to leave a glass of water on his nightstand.  Although if he had, he wasn't sure what he would do with it: drink it, or pour it over himself.

He had dreamt about Selena.  About his family, about home…about the time before…this.  A time when he had been happy.  He thought everything had already come apart at the seams, but he was wrong.  Apparently there were still some stitches in the tattered old garment of his life.

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

Sirius lay still in his bed in the Infirmary.  To prying eyes it would appear that he was sleeping, but in reality he was wide awake.  He was still numb with disbelief (and, to be fair, more than a small dose of painkillers).  How could he have gone and done that to Remus?  He had been so sure.  So sure that Snape had finally figured it out.  It made perfect sense.  But in the end, it wasn't the truth.

McGonagall had been right.  Sure, Snape hated him, and probably had a fair amount of dislike for Remus, too, but he would never be so stupid as to poison someone on his own side.  If Dumbledore trusted him, then there was no questioning his loyalties.

But he had been so sure.

Sirius felt so miserable that he had entertained thoughts of hanging himself with the bed sheets when Pomfrey wasn't looking.  But then no one would be left to care for Remus when the full moon came.  And since Remus no longer had the benefit of Wolfsbane potion – because of him, stupid stupid Sirius – they would be difficult times, indeed.  And no one would be left for Harry, and he'd have to spend all his time with those awful Dursleys.

He couldn't help releasing a long, shuddering sigh.  He didn't think what he had done back then had been wrong.  Remus had made a mistake, that was all, and the best way to solve the problem was to alter their memories so neither of them would be any worse for the wear.  But he had forgotten to factor in Selena's physical appearance.  A werewolf in a mating frenzy was obviously not the gentlest of creatures.  He hadn't hurt her, but he had definitely left his marks.  And how was he supposed to know that she and Lucius were engaged?  He didn't understand why they hadn't announced it.  There was nothing unusual about it at all, save for the fact that it hadn't been previously arranged; just another pureblood wedding.  And why hadn't she told Lucius she didn't know where the marks came from?  If he had really loved her, he would have believed her and they would have tried to figure it out.  Why had he flown off the handle like that?  The whole situation was completely muddled, and Sirius knew that he was missing something.  But what that was…he'd probably never find out.

As it was, the day had been full of revelations.  He'd never known that Malfoy had a brother.  Much less a brother that dressed in Muggle clothing, did all his magic wandless, and was an unregistered Animagus.  But he was glad that Cassius had come.  There was a plan to break Selena and Flitwick out of Azkaban, and originally it was to be him and McGonagall penetrating the defenses of Azkaban in their Animagus forms.  But he had worsened some of his injuries, particularly his knee, in his attack on Snape.  It looked as if the plan might have to be delayed, which didn't make anyone happy, until Cassius had volunteered.

So now they were on their way, under cover of darkness.  Hopefully all would go well; it had been absurdly simple to get past the Dementors in his Animagus form.  The reason he hadn't done it sooner was because it was difficult to manage the transformation without his wand.  But both Cassius and McGonagall had learned to transform sans wand long ago, and would be properly armed should anything go wrong, so there was nothing to worry about.

By morning, Selena and Flitwick would be fugitives from the law.  And surely Snape would tell her everything.  Poor Remus.

It was all his bloody fault.

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

_The Governors are coming._

The echo of the Dementors inside her mind startled her; they'd been quiet for a good while, not wanting to bother her while she attempted to sleep.  She hadn't; she was restless and unsettled.  She knew that something was wrong outside these formidable stone walls.

_The Governors?_ Oh, no…that meant Lucius.

_Yes, Mistress.  What shall we do?_

_Leave me.  Take the blankets.  You must treat me like you would any other prisoner.  Filibus, too._

_We do not wish to._

_It mustn't seem like anything is different.  _

_Why?_

_Many of the Governors are on the side of Voldemort.  They mustn't know that you are against him._

_We understand, Mistress._

Two of them glided into the cell, and she surrendered the blanket with a sigh.  Instantly the cold brought goosebumps to her skin, and she curled up tightly.

_Are you sure, Mistress?_

_Yes.  You must not intervene, no matter what._

_Yes, Mistress._

They glided out, and she busied herself with an attempt to make herself look like a normal, demoralized prisoner.  It wasn't difficult; the cold and the stark bareness of the cell had a way of making her miserable.  She wondered how Flitwick was doing.  Probably not too badly; she hoped the pompous visitors would leave him alone.

Minutes passed, and she began to think that perhaps the Governors were only there for a routine inspection.  But just as the thought crossed her mind, she heard the crisp clicking of boots echoing in the stone corridors.

"That cell there."

The voice was clipped and cold, noticeably angered.  Fudge.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, move out of the way, you bloody rotting shadow!" he sniped at the Dementor that accompanied him.  Selena heard the hiss of indignation in her mind, and even saw the violent things the Dementor wished to do to Fudge.

_Be calm_, she advised, bracing herself for the blustery man's entrance.  _He will get his._

_He stinks of darkness, Mistress._

_I know._

And then the cell door was opened, and Fudge beckoned another man forward.  Selena shivered in spite of herself.  It was MacNair, dressed all in black – his executioner's uniform, for when he had to end the lives of ill-behaved magical creatures.  Before she even knew what was happening, MacNair's thick hands clamped around her wrists and he practically threw her against the far wall, pinning her in place.  Her head cracked against the unforgiving stones and a small cry of pain escaped her.  This time the collective voice of the Dementors rose in her head, hissing in unrelenting fury.  But they were true to their word; they did not move.  They did, however, send her what comfort they could through their psychic bond.

"Hold her still, Walden!" Fudge said impatiently.

"What is the meaning of th—" Selena managed to cry before MacNair's meaty hand closed around her jaw and squeezed, causing her eyes to tear in pain.

"Get on with it, Cornelius.  She smells."

Something cool was thrust against her lips, and MacNair's hand pulled down on her jaw, forcing her to open her mouth.  She coughed as liquid – most likely a potion - was poured down her throat.

"Ugh…filthy whore," MacNair said as he released her.  She coughed and slumped to the floor as the black-clad man stepped away.  Fudge took his place, grabbing her by the hair and pulling so that she had to look up at him.

"Now tell me, girl, what is your full name?"

Before she could even gather her wits for a nasty retort, her mouth replied,

"Selena Madrigal Snape."

Shit.  It was Veritaserum.  And in spite of all the studies that showed that the effect of Veritaserum was questionable on psychics, she was apparently not one of the lucky ones.

"Seems to work," MacNair said from the door of the cell.

"So it does.  How about this one, then.  Where is Igor Karkaroff?"

"I don't know."  Again, she spoke uncontrollably, her lips and tongue forming the words even as her brain tried to catch up.

"Where is Lucius Malfoy?"

"I don't know."  Lucius?  Why were they asking about Lucius?  He had been fine the last time she saw him, energetic and virile enough to try to get up her skirt in a less than consensual way.  Whatever mental blow she'd dealt him hadn't been strong.  It should have given him a migraine for twelve hours or so, and then he should have been fine.  Did this mean that he _wasn't_ fine?

"Are you sure?" Fudge pressed, accentuating his question with a yank of her hair.

"Yes," she growled.  There, she was learning how to infuse some emotion into her voice, even if she couldn't control the answers just yet.  She could only hope that he didn't ask her anything important until she figured out a way to modify her responses.

"Can you use your Divination skills to track down either of these individuals?"

"No," she snarled immediately.

"No, you can't, or no, you won't?" Fudge said, giving her hair another hard yank.

"No, I won't," she returned, radiating hostility.

"She shouldn't be able to control her answer like that.  If she can do it, she should say yes, not express her unwillingness to do it."

"I am well aware of that, Walden.  These things are all incidental.  I'll cut you a deal, Ms. Snape," Fudge said, crouching down but not releasing his hold on her hair.  "You tell us, under the influence of Veritaserum as you are now, that your brother is a Death Eater.  We go to Hogwarts.  We arrest him, and he takes your place in this miserable cell.  And you…you're off to the Bermuda Triangle with fifty thousand galleons and a crystal clear record."

"You already know my brother is a Death Eater!" she nearly shouted.  "There was a trial, you ass!"

"That trial, Ms. Snape, proves only that he _was _a Death Eater."

"Bribery is illegal, Mr. Fudge."

"So is murder, Ms. Snape, and if you wish to rot in this prison while your brother romps freely in the outside world, be my guest.  But I'm going to ask you anyway.  Is your brother, Severus Snape, a Death Eater?"

Every fiber of her being wanted to say yes.  She could feel the Veritaserum blunting her willpower, forcing the 'n' sound into a 'y' sound, seducing the confession from her muddled brain.

_Yes yes yesyesyesyesyesyesyes…_her mind screamed.

And then there was a thunderous chorus in her head.

_NO!!!_

"No!" she cried, wrenching away from Fudge.

"Foolish girl!" he sneered.  "You were going to say yes.  I saw your lips form the word!"

"No!" was all she could say.  "No no no…"

"You're useless!" Fudge said, throwing his hands up in exasperation, and then on second thought, lashing a leg out to kick her.  She took the blow in the leg, right in her muscle.  It hurt, and she turned her face away from him, anticipating another blow.  But it didn't come.  Instead, Fudge pressed her up against the wall with the sole of his boot.

"Don't think for a second that we're done with you, Ms. Snape," he said menacingly, grinding his foot into her shoulder.  And then Fudge turned with a huff, straightening his cloak as he approached the entrance of the cell where McNair was still standing.  "Give her a few…kisses…to remember us by, Walden," he ordered.  MacNair nodded, a smirk coming to his lips, and then Fudge was gone.

She watched as MacNair swaggered into the cell with his wand pointed at her.

"I was hoping he'd say that.  Especially after the other night.  Your little shit of a brother sent me flying into a tree trunk, and then all he did was kiss the ugly fucker and give him a triple dose of the Cruciatus.  There are no tree trunks for me to toss you into here.  Fortunately, our…_hosts_…" MacNair said, jerking his head towards the Dementor that still lurked near the cell door, "don't really care what outsiders do to their prisoners."

A cold flush of terror went through her veins, and she thought immediately of Sirius Black.  If what MacNair said was true…what had they done to Black in twelve long years?  She had not even been there two days and already she'd entertained thoughts of suicide.  She had never liked Sirius Black, but right now, she couldn't help but marvel at his resilience to survive so long in a brutal place like Azkaban.

"So," MacNair said, crushing her jaw in his grip for a second time, "how many kisses should I give you?"

"How about you kiss my ass," she said through her teeth.

"Watch your tongue, girl, or I will do much more than kiss it, and I promise you it will not be pleasant."

"This is your revolution?  Your great revival of the wizard race?  Raping women in jail cells?" she said, struggling to twist out of his grip as he tried to push her frock up around her hips.  Her meager clothing was making this very easy for him.  In Azkaban, men were issued nothing more than a worn pair of trousers, and women a scratchy, shapeless canvas frock.  And that – literally – was it. 

"You're just some worthless half-breed, girl.  You can thank your mother for your impure blood.  And you should thank me for being willing to touch a creature like you," he replied.  

A moment later, his thick hand came across her cheek in a hard and punishing blow that sent the world spinning.  She tasted blood and felt him drag her onto her back on the cold, dirty stone floor.  Oh, what she would do to this man if she had a wand!  She fought him as hard as she could, but he was stronger.  He managed to get a knee between her legs, and the rest of his body quickly followed.  He was practiced at this, the bastard.  She heard the sound of a zipper and renewed her struggles, but it was to no avail.  She knew that she could kill him with a thought, a single thought, but then she would be worthy of the murder conviction and would wind up spending the rest of her life in Azkaban anyway.  Better to let him take his sick pleasure and hold onto the hope that someone or something would get her away from here.  At least…at least it wasn't Lucius.

None of those thoughts comforted her when she felt his erection bump against the inside of her thigh.  She squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself for the pain and the shame and the humiliation that she knew was coming.

But it never came.  Instead, she felt a strange weight on her stomach, and then MacNair was cursing and he pulled away from her.

"Fuck!" he thundered.  "Fucking animal!"  He made a grab for his wand, but all of a sudden there was a blur of white and he came up empty.

Selena looked up, badly confused but glad for the reprieve.  Quickly, she scooted backwards, pushing her frock back into place and huddling in the corner of the cell.  She could not believe what she saw.  In the middle of the floor there was a cat.  In the dim light she could see that it was a tabby.  Its hackles were raised, and a steady, menacing hiss rolled from its throat.  She looked past it to MacNair.  His hands were cupped over his genitals, and Selena could see blood trickling between his fingers.  The urge to laugh welled up in her throat, but she suppressed it.  She was still too frightened to find anything truly funny.

She jumped when a white dove landed neatly on her knee.  In its beak it held MacNair's wand.  She took it shakily, and as she stood, the bird fluttered to a new position on her shoulder.  Both the dove and the cat seemed oddly familiar, but she would worry about that once she had incapacitated MacNair.  She pointed the wand at him and whispered,

_"Silencio!__ Stupefy!_"

Walden McNair quieted and then slumped over, his hands still clutching at his bleeding genitalia.

"Serves you right," she murmured.  

A low purr brought her attention back to the cat.  It was sitting on its haunches now, its tail lashing from side to side and its piercing eyes fixed on her.  Now that the danger was over and she got a good look at the cat, she could identify where she knew it from.  Selena put a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.  It was McGonagall!  Minerva McGonagall had nearly made a eunuch out of MacNair, and did not look the slightest bit apologetic as she cleaned her bloodied paws.

"Thank you, Minerva," she whispered, leaning down to scratch between the cat's ears.  A hand fell on her shoulder a moment later, and she yelped and jumped, badly startled.

"Shh!" a familiar voice said.  "It's just me."

"Cassius?" she whispered, her voice quivering.

"Yes," he replied, favoring her with a rueful smile.  "Sorry I scared you."

In a second her fear turned to anger.

"Cass, I told you not to get involved in this!"

"Look, 'Lena, I'm not ten years old anymore, I can make my own decisions.  And I decided to come and do what I could."

"This could get you killed, Cass!  I told you to stay away for a reason!"

"I'm dead already, Selena.  Remember?"

"There will be time to work out your dispute when we are out of here," came McGonagall's clipped, authoritative voice.  Selena turned to look at her; the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had taken on her human form, and was pointing her wand at the door of the cell.  Dementors were assembling there, gliding forward one by one, forming a sea of black and grey that would be impossible to navigate, unless…

"_Expecto__ Patro—_"

"NO!" Selena screamed, placing herself between McGonagall's firmly held wand and the silent, menacing Dementors.

"Selena, what are you _doing?_" Cassius demanded under his breath.  "We're trying to get you out of here!"

She looked back at the Dementors.  Outwardly, they were quiet, but in her head their tentative voice echoed.

_Mistress?___

_They don't know.  They are my friends, please don't hurt them._

_They wish to hurt us._

_That is because they think you will hurt me._

_We would not.  _

_They don't know that.  I'm going to try to explain everything to them.  But we must go._

_Go?_

_Yes.  I can't stay here in Azkaban._

_But where will Mistress go?  May we come with you?_

_You can't come with me, but I will tell you where I am, once we get there._

_Mistress needs to be protected!_

_But you must stay here.  Remember, it can't look as if you've chosen a side!_

_But we have, Mistress!  We have._

_I know.  But the world cannot know until the time is right.  And the time isn't right._

_We understand, Mistress._

Cassius and McGonagall were staring at Selena; she seemed to have fallen into some sort of trance.  Minerva was just about to reach out and shake her when she suddenly began to speak again.

"Minerva…Cassius…" she began, frowning slightly.  "Let's go."

Cassius looked confused and McGonagall seemed to be entertaining thoughts of whether or not she'd gone batty.

"You expect to just waltz past these Dementors?" Minerva demanded.

Selena turned and fixed her eyes on her former Transfiguration teacher.

"Yes."

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

The next morning dawned cloudy but bright.  The heat of Indian summer still clung stubbornly to the land, thus burning off the usual fog and mist before most had even awakened.

Draco watched the sun inch over the horizon, a hazy disk obscured by the thin clouds.  He had not been able to sleep.  He kept thinking about Cassius, the man that was supposedly his uncle.

His father never talked about his family very much.  That was surprising, considering Draco thought a man like him would probably have enjoyed extolling the greatness of _la famille _Malfoy.  But it seemed to be a sore subject; his father shut up like a dragon's jaws whenever it was broached.  All Draco knew was that they were all dead, lost in the very beginning of the first war.  There was not so much as a word as to how they had died, or why.  Nor was it ever explained why Lucius had survived whereas all the others had not.

The only ones his father had ever said anything about were his mother, Helen, and his little brother, whom he had never named directly.  Draco had been young, up very early on a morning much gloomier than this.  He'd been downstairs playing with the dogs; his father had liked to keep Dalmatians back then.  Lucius had come down dressed for a long walk in the rain.  He'd been perplexed by this behavior; his father hated rain, and as far as he knew, would never have gone out in it willingly.  So, curious as to what his father was doing, he'd asked where he was going.  Lucius had given him a look, and then bent down to pick him up.  Draco remembered being so surprised he was almost afraid; he had not held him like that in a long time, at least two or three years.  But all Lucius did was take him up to his room and dress him in rain clothes – thick, warm robes with a hood, and his shoddiest pair of shoes.  He'd ordered Draco not to tell his mum, to which Draco had agreed, delighted to share something with his father and his father only.  In those days Lucius had worked a lot, most often coming home long after Draco had been put to bed.  His father had even offered his hand as they walked, and Draco had taken it.  It was warm and strong and comforting in a way he could not describe.  The whole situation had been very strange, and the little boy had wondered if the quiet hooded man was really his father.  Eventually they had come to a small fenced-in area – the ancient Malfoy family cemetery.  Draco had never been there before, and was amazed and fascinated by the rows and rows of moldering gravestones.

"Why hasn't anyone cast Impervious charms on them?" he'd asked, zigzagging between the headstones and jumping in the small, muddy puddles that gathered between them.  His father watched with an indulgent little smile, one he had hardly ever seen before.

"Nothing is impervious to time, little one," Lucius had replied.

"Is your family--" jump, splash, "here?" Slip, get up, jump, splash.

"Yes."

"Can I—" slip, comical arm flailing, regain of balance, "see?"  Draco had been practically overwhelmed with joy; it was seldom that he got to run around in the mud and know the delight of getting thoroughly filthy.  It was also equally rare that his father would let him do such a thing, let alone finally talk about his family.

"Of course.  Stop running about like a phoenix with its head cut off and come here."

And so he'd been told all about Helen, his grandmum, and how wonderful and kind she'd been.  And then about his father's little brother, his would-be uncle, and told that he sometimes reminded Lucius of him.  There had been a third grave that was not as old as all the others, but his father hadn't spoken of it or the person buried within it.  Much to Draco's delight, he'd transfigured some grass into flowers – a dozen white roses for Helen, five white lilies for his brother…and for the third grave, a single, blood-red rose.  Draco had asked him about the third grave, to which he replied that he'd tell him about it at another time.  And then he'd guided Draco home, again letting him slip and slide in the sopping grass and watching with that tiny smile on his otherwise unreadable face.

That day had been very strange indeed; when they'd arrived back at home, Lucius had ordered him into the shower.  That was strange all on its own.  Usually they made him take baths, and the shower was only for Mum and Dad.  Even they did not use it much.  Witches and wizards simply seemed to prefer the bath or a good cleansing charm.  But Lucius told him to take a shower, and had actually joined him.  It was not all that strange, considering he'd only been five at the time and it was not unusual for parents to bathe with their children because they did not trust them on their own just yet.  However, Lucius had not accompanied him since he was three or so.  Yet he did that day, and afterwards had even permitted Draco to help him comb out his long hair – a thing previously unheard of.  It was a level of closeness that was rarely allowed in such a formal home.

Things went back to normal after that, at least in front of his Mum.  Lucius still worked long hours and hardly ever saw his son, and acted cool and aloof when he was home, but something had changed.  Draco never knew when his father would have a spontaneous burst of affection or kindness, but they always came just when he needed them.  Those few hours of indulgence – time when he didn't have to act the perfect pureblood heir – were a blessing to the only child in Malfoy Manor.

Draco rested his chin in his palm and sighed, his breath fogging up the window.  This man…this Cassius…could he be that little brother Lucius had spoken of?  Draco tried to recall everything his father had said about him.  There was an age gap, that much he remembered.  But there was not much else that his brain could salvage; he had been so young, and he never thought that he would ever meet his uncle, even if they had never found a body.

He looked around the dormitory.  Everyone was asleep, and with good reason; there were still two and a half hours until breakfast.  But Draco was wide awake.

He didn't know what made him think his Head of House would be conscious at this hour.  But that was where his slipper-clad feet took him.  He had already knocked on the door before he realized how rude his actions were.  The door opened surprisingly quickly, though, and it became obvious from Snape's alert face and lack of annoyance that he, too, had already awakened.

"Is everything all right, Draco?" he asked, standing aside to admit him to his office.

"Yes," Draco replied.  "Well, I don't know."

"Have a seat.  Would you like some breakfast?"

Draco nodded and Snape went over to the fireplace to call for a house elf.  It was strange to see his teacher and Head of House in a robe and slippers with a cup of tea in his hand.  He wondered briefly why Snape would be up so early; he didn't think it was a habit, considering how late the Potions Master patrolled the corridors on some nights.  A house elf popped in a moment later, setting a tray of food on the desk and then hastily making its exit.

Snape handed him a plate and a cup of tea, and then made himself comfortable in the chair across from Draco's.

"What is this?" Draco could not help asking, holding up his breakfast.

"It's a bagel."

"A bay-what?"

"A bagel.  It's a Muggle food."

"You eat Muggle food?" Draco asked, surprised.

"Why not?"

"What's this stuff on top of it?" the blond boy asked, examining the spread closely.

"Cream cheese."

"What's that?"

"Have you ever had cheesecake?"

"Yes," Draco said, nodding.  The house elves at home made them sometimes – both father and son had a weakness for sweets.

"It's like that, but instead of being sweet it's salty."

"Oh…" the boy said, frowning.

"Just eat it, you'll like it.  Now I know you didn't come down here to discuss the intricacies of Muggle cuisine with me."

Draco took a bite of the bagel and found it surprisingly tasty.  Hm.  Perhaps the Muggles were good for something.

"No," he said after swallowing.  "I…I wanted to talk about Cassius."

Snape nodded.

"Draco, I wouldn't lie to you.  Your father was a very close friend of mine, and his family was my family, for a time."

"You're…you're absolutely positive?"

"There are few things I have been surer of in my life."

The young Slytherin took a breath, frowning intensely.

"I was just…he looked so much like a Muggle, and I just couldn't believe..."

"It's all right, Draco.  You had a rough day, and weren't really in the state of mind to meet your long-lost uncle.  He understood, and so did I."

"I don't want him to hate me."

"He won't."

"How did he and the others die?" Draco asked, looking up at his teacher and hoping he would finally get an answer.  Something flickered behind Snape's eyes.  He knew.

"That is not my story to tell, Draco," he answered softly.

"Do you think…Uncle Cassius will tell me?"  

"He might."

"Is he…do you know where he's staying?"

"He's staying at Hogwarts, but he won't be back until this afternoon."

"Where did he go?"

"Er…"

And at that moment, a small owl blustered into the room, hooting loudly.  It made a beeline for Snape, and nearly knocked his head off in finding its perch on the chair.  It hopped from leg to leg excitedly and nudged Snape's ear with its beak.

"Easy, Astrid," the dark-haired man said, feeding the owl a bit of his bagel.  "I hope you have good news for me."

The owl hooted as if to say yes and then stuck out its leg.  Draco watched as Snape unrolled a scrap of parchment and quickly scanned whatever was written on it.  And then all the tension seemed to bleed out of the Potions Master; he slouched and dropped his head back against the chair, closing his eyes.

"Is…everything all right, sir?" Draco asked.

"Fine," he replied, his lips forming a small, thin smile.  "Just fine, for once."

"Well, um…when my uncle gets back, could you find me or tell me…or something?"

"Of course."

"Thank you for breakfast, Professor.  And for the talk."

"My door is always open, Draco."

Draco nodded, replaced his plate and cup on the tray, and made a quiet exit.

Not even two minutes had passed when another bird glided swiftly into the room.  A white dove landed on the cushion of the chair Draco had vacated, and in the blink of an eye bird had changed to man.

"Morning, Severus," Cassius said around a yawn.

"Good morning.  Your nephew was just in here asking about you."

"Oh yes?" Cassius inquired, perking up a bit.

"Yes.  He's worried that you'll hate him for what he said."

"Of course I won't!"

"He wanted me to tell him when you returned.  If you go quickly, you can probably catch him before he reaches the dormitory."

"I would, Severus, but I'm beat.  I need a nap.  I'll catch him after lunch."

"That's fair.  Would you like a sleeping draught?"

"I don't think I'll need it," Cassius said, chuckling.

"Probably not.  Spending time with Minerva can do that to you.  Is the old hellcat back yet?"

"I'm sure she is."

Snape smiled to himself.  He remembered something he had said earlier in the week about kissing Minerva McGonagall.  Right now, he felt like he could do it and suffer no ill effects.  She and Cassius had just broken his sister out of prison.

"Well I'm off to bed, then," Cassius said, standing and stretching.  "If you want to send a letter to Selena, just use Astrid."

"I will.  Sleep well."

Cassius nodded and made his way to the door.

"Oh, one more thing, Severus."

Snape inclined his head.

"Yes?"

"Selena told me to tell you that the deal is still on, even if she doesn't have the globe."

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

The day was going quickly, but that was only because Draco was preoccupied.  He wanted to see his uncle, to speak to him, to ask him a thousand questions that he could never ask his father.  So far, no word from Snape, but he trusted that the Potions Master would keep his promise.  So he fidgeted his way through his morning classes, and now he was on his way to lunch, not listening to a single thing that Pansy Parkinson was babbling about.

He usually sat between Crabbe and Goyle, but neither of them was there yet, so it seemed that he was stuck with Pansy.  With a sigh, he slid onto the bench and wondered how long he could stand the girl's shrill voice before he told her to shut up.

He began to eat, steadfastly ignoring Pansy and wondering where his hulking companions were.  He was just about finished when all of a sudden, much to everyone's surprise, a bird flew into the Great Hall with a package attached to its leg.  It wasn't an owl; it was sleek and black.  A raven?  Draco had heard of messenger ravens before.  But as it coasted across the Hall and landed right in front of him, it became clear that it was not a raven.  It was a crow.

Draco could feel every pair of eyes in the Great Hall on him.  Even Pansy had fallen silent.  Mail never came at lunchtime, _never_.  It was always breakfast, or, if the morning post had been missed, occasionally at dinner.  But no one had ever gotten a package during lunchtime in the entirety of the five years Draco had attended Hogwarts.  And from the way people were staring at him, he supposed that it was pretty much unheard of.

The bird cawed at him harshly, leaning down to help itself to the remnants of his lunch.  Draco wasn't all that comfortable with everyone in the entire school seeing what had been sent to him.  But then again, he would look stupid if he took it and walked out.  With a sigh, he unfastened the package from the crow's leg.  Apparently whoever had sent it wasn't expecting a response, because the bird flew away as soon as it was relieved of its burden.

Draco hesitated as he began to pull away the plain brown paper.  He really hated that everyone was looking at him, professors included.  But it was probably nothing; probably just one of his father's random acts of kindness.  He had been known to send Draco a sack of sweets before.  So he pulled the paper away, only to find another layer.  He tore that layer away, too, and found a cylindrical bundle wrapped in cloth.  Draco frowned.  Perhaps it wasn't just a sack of sweets.

He unrolled the bundle feeling slightly ill at ease.  At last, an object fell out of the cloth and landed on the table with a slight thump.  Pansy Parkinson screamed.

Draco was frozen, transfixed with horror and revulsion.  On the table before him was a severed hand.  The flesh near the wrist was ragged and torn, and the fingers stiff and clawlike.  The nails were long and manicured, the digits thin and pale and delicate.  There was a piece of paper wrapped around the second finger, and a ring on the fourth.  A ring that was all too familiar.

Draco stumbled away from the table with a gasp, his foot catching on the edge of the bench and causing him to fall.  At that moment, the hand twitched and sprung up.  This time Pansy wasn't the only one that screamed.

The hand dove off the edge of the table and went straight for Draco.  He didn't think to take out his wand; he was too shocked and terrified to act.  The cold, dead fingers clamped onto his neck and squeezed mercilessly.  Spots danced before his eyes as he struggled for breath.  He heard the Ravenclaw girl that had leaned over to try to help him pry the thing from his neck yelp, and then he felt like he was sliding underwater…

_"Finite Incantatum!!!"_

The pressure fell away all of a sudden, and he gasped and coughed, his throat burning.

"It's all right, Draco.  It's all right."

Snape's voice.

"What does it say?"  Dumbledore, this time.

But Snape didn't read the message aloud; a rustle of paper was heard, and Dumbledore sighed.

"Go, Severus."

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, frowning harder than he had in years.  The incident in the Great Hall had shaken everyone, Gryffindor and Slytherin alike.  He'd cancelled classes for the rest of the day and sent everyone back to their dormitories.  They would need time to sort this out without children underfoot.

It was lucky that Draco was not dead.  The enchantment on the severed hand had been strong, so strong that it had required an extremely potent burst of magic to end it.  It was the strongest magic he'd felt from Severus in years.

But that was nothing compared to what had happened afterward.  As soon as the spell was dissolved, a black smoke rose from the dead limb and formed a hazy but most definitely recognizable Dark Mark.  Severus had not noticed it in his desire to make sure Draco was all right, but Dumbledore had seen it, as had several others, mostly from the Ravenclaw table.

Even more distressing was the note that had been attached.

_You'll find the rest of her at the Manor._

And so it was that Severus Snape was at Malfoy Manor picking up the pieces.

A/N – The Typewriter – a method of torture in which one person sits on top of the other, pinning his or her arms down with their knees.  The idea is to compose a letter.  The keyboard is the victim's chest, so when 'typing', one simply hits or taps them as hard as they wish.  Naturally, a typewriter runs out of room and must be pushed back at the end of each line.  In order to do this, one must slap the victim across the face.  It sounds mean, but it's really quite amusing.  Unless, of course, you're the victim.  LoL.  Sorry for the delay in getting this out…don't worry, it hasn't been abandoned!  I've just been super busy.  This chapter is for Liam! 3 Mwah 3


	17. Fifty Fifty

"She's dead, isn't she."

Draco's voice was flat and cold.  He did not look at his Head of House; he simply stared straight ahead, the very picture of barely contained anger and grief.

Snape did not mince words.

"Yes."

"Who did it?" Draco demanded.  His words were quiet, but overflowing with rage.  

His question was met with silence.  Draco looked up at Snape.  The dark man's eyes were downcast, his hands white-knuckled.  There was only one thing in the world that could get to his Potions Master like that.

"Voldemort."

Snape closed his eyes and sighed.

"Yes.  The Manor is…demolished."

Draco took this in stride.  Of course, Snape knew that the Manor was not what Draco really cared about.

"And my father?"

"He wasn't there.  I don't know where he is."

"So everything is gone."

Again, Snape didn't answer him.  Draco seethed and fought back tears simultaneously.  He couldn't comprehend what had happened.  Until this morning, his family had been heavily favored by Voldemort.  His father was the dark wizard's right hand man, for Merlin's sake!  So what had happened in the last twenty four hours that had reversed this so completely?

"Draco, what do you know about Igor Karkaroff?" Snape asked suddenly, interrupting his morose thoughts.

"Uh…wasn't he the Headmaster of Durmstrang?" 

"Yes, he was.  He was also a Death Eater.  But during the Tri-Wizard tournament, when Voldemort began to re-awaken…he felt the Mark burn and fled."

Draco nodded.  

"That's what it was, that one time he came into the classroom, right?"

"Right.  So naturally one would assume Voldemort would not be too happy with Mr. Karkaroff."

"Naturally…" Draco agreed slowly, wondering where the conversation was heading.

Snape sighed deeply, looking skyward as if asking some greater deity to give him the words he needed.  Draco watched him fidget.  He would never have thought his Potions Master could be so disconcerted.  The man was about as emotional as a stone most of the time, unless you counted the fits of rage that made him infamous.  And once you got used to those, you tended to forget that they could be considered emotion at all.  At last Snape shook his head, apparently not finding an easier way to say what he had to say.

"Draco, Igor Karkaroff's remains were also found at the Manor.  Which means that your mother or your father was providing him with a hiding place from the Dark Lord.  Did you know anything about this?"

Draco blinked in shock.  His father, a traitor?  He frowned deeply.  No, his father was not the traitor.  It had to be his mother; she was the one who had forced him to go to that Revel and then left him behind when the Dementors attacked.  She hadn't even bothered to look for him and see if he was all right afterwards.

"Nothing," the boy replied dazedly.  "I had no idea."

"Well…bear with me, Draco.  You will never hear me accuse either your mother or your father of being unintelligent.  And…providing asylum for Mr. Karkaroff, against the orders of your own exceedingly vengeful Lord, is not an intelligent thing to do.  So there must have been a reason.  Neither of them would ever have done it without a very important reason."

Draco nodded; Snape's logic made perfect sense.  That was one of the main things that separated Slytherins from Gryffindors – among Slytherins, there was no loyalty but to oneself.  So if his parents had betrayed Voldemort, it must have been for a damn good reason.  But he supposed that now he would never know.

Severus watched as Draco digested all that had been said.  The boy was resilient; he'd gone through a great deal in the last few days, and through it all he was still himself – the cool, calculating Slytherin prince.

He'd debated with himself for a long time before the visit.  He knew why Lucius had sheltered Karkaroff.  Karkaroff knew he was a spy, and therefore was a valuable person up until the right moment.  But he wasn't sure which side Draco was on, although he was fairly certain that the boy was not best pleased by the turn of events and seemed to have no stomach for the events of the Revel.  Still, one never would have thought Peter Pettigrew to have a stomach for such things, and there he was.

And another thing…the whole situation didn't quite add up.  Severus had known Lucius Malfoy his entire life, and if there was anything he'd learned from him, it was how _not_ to get caught.  Lucius would never have allowed such a discovery to happen under his own roof.  And that led him to believe that Lucius was either not himself…or no longer alive.

"I want to talk to my uncle," Draco said suddenly.

"All right.  I'll bring him here.  Anytime you wish to talk, Draco, I will be here.  Just tell Madam Pomfrey to call me."

The boy nodded sullenly, and Snape stood.  His body was still protesting against his movements, but it was not nearly as bad as it had been.  He simply felt heavy and lethargic, and that he could handle quite easily, compared to some things he'd been through.  He turned to exit the curtained-off cubicle when Draco's voice stopped him.

"Professor?"

"Yes, Draco?" he replied, turning back.

"Thank you."

"For what?"  As far as he was concerned, Draco had nothing to be thanking him for; indirectly, he was the cause of this entire thing, and he'd had nothing but bad news to deliver to the boy.

"For…for not condemning me, or my parents, even though…you're…well, at least I think you are…um…one of them."

Snape understood.  He gave the boy a long, appraising glance.  So he doubted his allegiance already.  He'd have to be more careful in the future.  From now on he would speak to Draco Malfoy, but he would be sure not to really say anything.

He gave a small nod, a slight inclination of his head that did not break eye contact.  It was not acknowledgement, but nor was it denial.  The boy would just have to reach his own conclusions.  And, he thought as he exited the infirmary, there was little chance that it would matter which way the boy went.  The way things were going, he'd most likely be dead, anyway.

*                       *                       *                       *                       *                       *

He was surprised to hear a light knock on his door later that evening.  He was sitting in his office staring into space.  He had thought that he could busy himself and shut down the chaotic stream of thoughts in his mind, but so far it wasn't working.  He'd only marked one essay, and that one only halfway through.  His usual snarky comments weren't even up to par.  They actually seemed almost like…constructive criticism.

He incinerated the essay in frustration, and then stood to answer his door.  He expected it to be Cassius or Draco, so he didn't even bother to ask who it was.  However, when he unlocked the door and opened it, it was Hermione Granger that greeted him.

"Oh!  Hello, Professor," she said nervously.  Clearly she had not expected him to fling open the door like that.

"What in the name of Merlin's robes are you doing out of your dormitory at this hour?  I never thought of you as a glutton for punishment, Miss Granger, but this is simply _begging _me to take house points!" he bit off.

"I just came down to return your book," she said calmly, not even flinching in the face of his rudeness.  "However, if you wish me to keep it…"

In the moment that passed, she reflected that Snape really looked like he wanted to bash his head against a wall.  Well, at least he was back to his old grumpy self again.

"Ohhh!  Hecate's teats, why must I be _cursed_ with such insufferable little _brats_…" he growled, standing aside to admit her.  She tuned out the rest of his rant, unable to contain the smile that wanted to take over her face.  She took her usual seat and tried to hide her grin as he stalked back to his desk.  He sat, leaned back, and glowered at her.

Eventually she couldn't stand it anymore, and burst out laughing.  At which point she could have _sworn_ that she heard his teeth grinding.

"Did you ingest a giggling potion, Miss Granger, or are you simply delirious from the knowledge of how many detentions you're going to get for this?" he ground out.

"Give me all the detentions you want," she shot back, crossing her arms over her chest.  "It just means I get to read more and more of your books."

If it was possible for a person to spontaneously combust, she thought Snape might just do it.  But a moment later all the anger bled out of him; he sagged in his chair and tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling.

"Take another one and go."

"Is Draco all right?" she asked, ignoring his command.

He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face.

"Why do you care, Miss Granger?  You've never liked the boy, and I don't see why you should start now."

"I don't have to like him to want to know if he's all right."

"Worrying about someone's welfare would usually indicate that you care about him or her."

"No one deserves to have that happen to them, even if they are an annoying little prat."

He sighed again.

"Indeed, Miss Granger.  Indeed.  But do you think he would feel half as much sympathy for you, if it was your family?"

She looked up and met his eyes fearlessly.

"That's what you're trying to change, isn't it, Professor?"

Her eyes followed him as he stood and began to pace.

"Why are you here, Miss Granger?" he asked suddenly.  "What exactly is it that you want from me?"

"I don't want anything," she said, slightly taken aback.  "Except to give your book back and perhaps spend a little time in intelligent company."

She could see by the way his lips tightened that there was a nasty retort on the tip of his tongue, but, much to her surprise, he stifled it.  He shook his head and sighed impatiently, resuming his pacing.

After a good ten minutes, she could no longer restrain herself from asking,

"What's the matter?"

He stopped his pacing abruptly and stalked over to her, his face halfway to livid.

"And I thought the infamous Hermione Granger didn't ask stupid questions!" he snapped, towering over her.

"Stupid questions have an obvious answer," she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest.  "The answer to this one isn't obvious to me!"

"It should be!" he thundered.

"I'm not psychic, and I'm _sure_ I don't know all the details, so would you please just stop being an arse and tell me?" she shot back, rising out of the chair and planting her pointer finger firmly in the center of his chest.  He seemed mildly shocked by this, but quickly recovered and swept away from her with a huff and a swirl of robes.

He plucked a book from the shelf, shook it once to remove any dust that had accumulated on it, and then threw it at her.  Not hard, but forcefully enough to convey his displeasure.

"Take your book, Miss Granger, and get out.  And if you wanted intelligent company, perhaps you should have asked the Sorting Hat to put you in Ravenclaw!"

And with that, he disappeared into his quarters and slammed the door.  Dust shivered down from the shelves and the various glass jars rattled against one another.  Hermione was left to stare after him, coughing slightly at the dust.

She left the dungeons, grumbling to herself about how rude, crass, and demanding he was.  But it was halfhearted; she remembered what Dumbledore had said about his Potions Master.  She should have expected this sort of behavior.

It was only when she reached the privacy of her own room that she even looked at what book he had given her.  It was thin, but not insubstantial.  What puzzled her was its condition; it was little more than a folder full of papers, hardly a book at all.  Frowning, she opened the cover.

On the first page the title stood out boldly, written in the slanting hand of her Potions Master.

_The Art of Sabotage._  

That was when it hit her.  He could be in danger from all of this!  At any time, he could be summoned to Voldemort, and there was no way for him to know if his position was still secure or not.  He could go and find everything normal, or he could go and be tortured, beaten, and murdered.  Even though it was a fifty-fifty chance, the odds were still much too unfavorable.

Severus Snape was _afraid_.  And she was afraid for him in return.

A/N – Short chapter, I know!  But it just wouldn't mesh with the events of the next part…so this is how it had to be.  Is anyone reading this?


	18. Summons

Draco woke to the cold light of sunrise filtering through the windows of the Infirmary. Staring at his grey surroundings, he felt as though he was still in a dream. But that, of course, was impossible. He had not dreamt last night, and he was glad.

The stone walls were a musty slate color, and suddenly the castle actually seemed its age. The light of dawn made everything look different; sinister, almost, like a place long forgotten by thought and time.

His uncle was there, dozing in a chair near his bed. Draco examined him intently; he really did look very much like his father, with some subtle differences. His lips were thinner, his nose a bit crooked, his cheekbones more pronounced…he was smaller in stature than Lucius but quite unmistakably related to him.

So he had an uncle. It was a strange thought, for he had always been alone. Many students had a large extended family, and Draco had always been jealous; he had no aunts or uncles or cousins to visit on holidays or call up when the whim struck. Well, at least none that were sane. Or out of prison, for that matter.

What was it like to have a family besides your parents? It had occupied most of his thoughts since the incident. He never thought he would envy Neville Longbottom, but without his parents, he had no one. Longbottom at least had his Gran, even if she was tyrannical and horribly eccentric.

"Galleon for your thoughts?"

Draco jerked back to reality, turning to meet his uncle's cool blue eyes. They were tired but deep, and there was an awareness in them that Draco had never seen in his father's eyes.

"I…I was just thinking about what it must be like to have a big family."

A smile curled onto Cassius's lips, a smooth, natural movement. The complacent expression suited his face, and Draco felt himself relaxing.

"It's nice," he replied, thinking of Selena's family in Russia. "But everyone is always in your business."

"At least you know someone cares."

"Either that, or they're watching for every little mistake you make so they can use it against you."

"That's how life has always been for me," Draco said softly, fidgeting with the hem of his blanket. Cassius sighed, and the smile faded from his face.

"Me too," he admitted, shaking his head. "It isn't a pleasant existence, but it teaches you how to wear many faces. And in this time, that is a valuable ability to have."

Draco nodded, at a loss for words. After a few moments, he ventured,

"You cut your hair."

Cassius rubbed his cropped hair absently, frowning.

"Yes. I gathered that dreadlocks are not a very popular wizard hairstyle."

"No, they aren't."

"I figured that if I was going to be here for a while, I should try to blend in a bit better."

"It wasn't because of me, was it? Because of what I said?"

"No, no. Sometimes you just need a change."

"I'm really sorry I reacted to you like that."

"Don't be, Draco. It was too much at one time, I understand perfectly."

Draco nodded, still feeling guilty.

"So…you're going to stay for a while?"

"As long as I'm needed," he answered. "And after that, as long as my heart tells me to."

"You're so different from my father."

Cassius smiled sadly and shook his head.

"For a long time I wanted to be just like him."

Draco's eyes widened slightly. That was not the response he had expected.

"You see, Draco, he was different, too. He was not the person he is now. He was smart and loving and good at everything he did; he always wanted to see me smiling. He's still smart, and still good at just about everything, but the love is gone. He was the best brother I could have asked for, back then."

Draco looked away, trying to digest this information.

"What changed him?" he asked, staring through the frosted windows across the room. "Was it your father? He would never talk about him the way he talked about Grandmother or you."

Since he was not looking, Draco missed the slight wince that flashed across Cassius's face at the mention of Marius Malfoy. But it was impossible to miss the flatness of his uncle's voice when he next spoke.

"Our father was not always a bad man. That's what Mother used to tell me, anyway. He did not approve of some of the choices Lucius was making as he neared his graduation, but Lucius was stronger than him. He knew it; he knew he couldn't control him anymore. He…took it out on me. He thought that he could undo the mistakes he'd made with Lucius…that he could make me into the pliant little Death Eater protégé he wanted Lucius to be."

"My…my father didn't want to be a Death Eater?" Draco asked, his head snapping back to Cassius, a look of shock on his face.

"No, he didn't. He didn't condemn our father's activities, but he had no desire to join them."

"This doesn't make any sense," Draco said, rubbing his face in an agitated gesture. "Since the moment I learned to walk it's been Dark Arts this, Voldemort that…and you mean to tell me that my father didn't want to be a supporter of the Dark Lord?"

"I don't have any reason to lie to you, Draco. I know you want answers. I'm trying to give them to you. Something happened to him, something that no one can explain, and it changed him. It took away my brother."

Draco resumed his fidgeting, clearly uncomfortable with what he was being told.

"Well," he spat bitterly, "it doesn't matter now, does it? He's dead."

"We don't know that for sure."

"Why would the Dark Lord let him live after he betrayed him? They probably gave him the C-cruciatus until his heart b-burst," Draco stuttered, his eyes filling with angry tears. He swiped them away, disgusted that he'd let his emotions get the better of him.

A warm hand enveloped his, and Draco started, unused to such close contact. Cassius squeezed gently, his own eyes glassy. He had to acknowledge the reality of the situation; the boy was probably right, but he would not consider Lucius dead until he saw it with his own eyes.

"We can hope, Draco. They thought I was dead, but all these years, they've been mourning a living man."

Draco nodded, but the look in his eyes was one of grim resignation. His nephew had no hope, no hope at all. For the first time, Cassius regretted not coming back to England sooner. As foolish as it was to think of what could have been, he could not help but wonder if, in some way, he might have made a difference.

* * *

Cassius stood and stretched, feeling more exhausted than he had in a long time. He had done so much in so little time, and awakened emotions long faded, either by the passage of time or the workings of his mind.

Draco had been distant since their discussion, but he had not objected to his presence. The boy had a lot to sort out, but Cassius could not tell him more just yet. He probably didn't want to hear it, anyway.

Dumbledore had come to fetch Draco a few minutes ago, and now Cassius planned to steal what little sleep he could. As he strode towards the doors of the infirmary, a voice drifted to his ear, sonorous in the large room.

"You didn't tell him much."

"No," Cassius agreed, following the voice. "I didn't." He peered inside a curtained-off cubicle, meeting the dark eyes of man he'd never seen before. He was propped up in the bed, one leg supported by a pile of pillows. The top of what was probably extensive bandaging was visible above the neck of his robe. His body seemed to be on the mend, but his face was tired and haunted.

"Are you going to tell him about Selena?" the man asked. Cassius walked into the cubicle, his brow furrowed in thought.

"Dumbledore says we can't be sure of which side he's leaning toward, so I can't tell him very much."

"He doesn't have much of a choice anymore, does he? His family betrayed the Dark Lord."

"But he could still be of use to Voldemort, being that he's in the school, close to the Potter boy."

A strange expression passed over the dark-haired man's face, and then he nodded. Silence fell between them.

"You seem to know who I am," Cassius said at last. "May I ask who you are?"

The man's dark eyes closed, and a small, mirthless smile graced his features.

"If you don't know already, then you don't want to."

"You shouldn't make decisions for other people."

"Knowing my name won't enrich your life in any way, I promise."

"Humor me. I like to put a name to a face."

The man snorted.

"You want to put a name to a face? Go visit the Ministry and you'll probably be able to."

Frowning, Cassius decided to change tactics.

"How did you know Lucius and Selena?"

"My sister married Lucius."

Cassius's eyes widened. So this man was, indirectly, his brother-in-law…and his sister had been hacked to pieces by the Dark Lord.

"I…I'm so sorry." He didn't know what else to say.

"It's not a big loss for me," the other man said, shaking his head sadly. "She hated me. Would've killed me if she got the chance." At Cassius's look of shock, he clarified, "I was the black sheep of the family. I was the only one who associated with half-bloods and mudbloods, the only one who had some ambition other than to grovel at Voldemort's feet. Not to mention the only Gryffindor."

Severus had tried to explain the house system to Cassius. Cassius didn't see the point of having separate houses; once you defined a child's personality so rigidly, that child would develop those characteristics because it was expected of them. This man had been a Gryffindor, but his sister had served the Dark Lord; without that suggestion of what a Gryffindor was supposed to be, would he have turned out the same? In this case it had worked for the better, but that didn't mean it always did.

"Then how did you know Selena? She was in Ravenclaw."

"Yes. Our paths crossed every now and then. We had some common friends."

Cassius nodded. He scrutinized the bedridden man, his mind working.

"I still want to know your name."

Sirius shook his head, sighing. He was so like a Malfoy in some ways, but radically different in others. Any Malfoy should be a shoo-in to Slytherin, but he was not sure this one would be. All that aside, too many people already knew of his presence at Hogwarts. Another person would not improve the situation.

"If you really want to know who I am then why don't you ask someone?"

"Because I know that you aren't supposed to be here. If I ask the wrong person, it would give you away."

Sirius exhaled slowly. Oh, he was a sharp one. He never should have given in to the urge to talk to him. But now there was no going back.

"Sirius Black," he said gruffly, steeling himself for the usual reaction. But, to his incredibly great surprise, there was none; just a barely noticeable raise of the pale eyebrows as he catalogued the name in his mind, nothing more. No hint of recognition, let alone shock, fear, or loathing.

"Cassius Malfoy," he reciprocated, and offered a hand. "Although I'm sure you already knew."

Sirius took his hand hesitantly. No one had shaken hands with him as if he were a real, respectable person in…well, more than thirteen years now. An unexpected lump rose swiftly in his throat; he had forgotten what acceptance was like. Of course, it was only because the other man didn't know who he was and what the wizarding world thought he'd done.

He cleared his throat and willed the sudden emotion away.

"I don't suggest you let anyone know that you've spoken to me."

Cassius half-smiled and replied,

"The same goes for you, Mr. Black. After all, we're both fugitives now."

* * *

"I trust all went well?" Dumbledore asked, waving his wand absently and floating a cup of tea towards his Deputy Headmistress. She looked tired, but her eyes glittered with hyper-awareness. She had only just gotten back a half hour before; changing her markings had proved to be enough of an energy drain to require her to rest before returning.

"Yes, Filibus and Selena are safe," Minerva replied, gratefully sipping at the tea. "But some most interesting things happened last night."

"Really? Do tell."

"When Mr. Malfoy and I arrived at Selena's cell, Walden MacNair was attempting to force himself on her."

"Oh dear!" Dumbledore exclaimed, his face turning grave. "Is the poor girl all right?"

"Yes, we arrived in time to prevent it. And I assure you, Mr. MacNair will not be pleasing his wife anytime soon."

The graying wizard could not help but chuckle at the ruthless glint her eyes and the smug set of her face. Minerva was not the sort of woman you wanted to cross. Whether the transgression was large or small, she would see that you were paid back in kind. Clearly, Walden MacNair had earned himself a severe punishment.

"I am glad to hear that, Minerva."

"Cornelius Fudge had been there, and not long before," she went on, picking up the pastry that had appeared next to her. "I could smell him; he stinks of cowardice. Selena told us that he forced her to take Veritaserum, and tried to make her implicate Severus as a Death Eater."

Dumbledore sighed, his age descending upon him and lining his face.

"I have long feared that he had his own agenda. This spells death for Severus…"

"She told him no, Albus."

He leaned forward, an incredulous expression on his face.

"She was able to resist?"

"Yes. With a little help."

"Help? Help from whom?"

"This is the most amazing part, Albus. She says the Dementors helped her."

"The Dementors!" This was probably as close to floored as Albus Dumbledore would ever be.

"Yes, the Dementors, and I am inclined to believe her. As we were preparing to leave her cell, a dozen of them turned up. I thought I was going to have to blast them all with the Patronus, because they had seen us in our human forms. But just as I was about to cast the spell, she jumped between us and commanded me to stop! For a minute it seemed like she was in some kind of trance, and then she made for the door of the cell like nothing had happened!"

"And?" Albus was leaning so far over his desk that his spectacles were practically falling off his nose.

"They just…opened right up and let her walk through. They touched her, Albus, and she wasn't afraid. And the strangest part was that I wasn't, either. I didn't feel anything except amazement. It was almost like they were worshipping her."

"Oh my…" he said, settling slowly back into his chair. "It's starting to make some sort of sense…"

"What is?" Minerva demanded.

"According to Severus, the last Dark Revel was brought to an abrupt end by a Dementor attack. He said they didn't give anyone The Kiss, and that they seemed to know who he was. They brought Remus directly to him."

"How can that be?"

"I don't know, Minerva, but it is becoming clear that Selena has something to do with it."

"My God, Albus…if she has some kind of control over them, some agreement…" Minerva said, her hand coming to rest on her chest as if she was in shock, "Albus, this could win us the war!"

"I know," he replied, reaching out to take her other hand. "But we aren't going to make any assumptions."

* * *

Fifth year Double Potions was strangely quiet and uneventful. Draco still had yet to return to classes (understandably), so the Slytherins kept to themselves and the Gryffindors were glad to be left alone.

Snape had been distracted enough during class for Hermione to know that he hadn't gotten any sleep. Nevermind that he had only assigned written work; that was highly unusual all on its own. He had not moved from his desk, and though his eyes swept the room periodically, his mind was not on his students. If it had been, he surely would have noticed Goyle not-so-subtly eating a chocolate frog in the back row. There was a strict rule of no eating or drinking in potions class. Snape hated it when there were grubby fingerprints on essays, too; he had been quite clear about that when Neville had foolishly handed in an essay with grease marks on it.

Just as Hermione was putting the finishing touches on her essay (on the magical properties of powdered shell of nautilus), there was a flutter of wings and a snow-white dove came out of nowhere, landing neatly on Snape's desk. It cooed softly, and he reached out absently to stroke its pale feathers.

"Is…is that your familiar, Sir?" Pansy Parkinson dared to ask. No one, not even the Slytherins, knew if Snape even had a familiar. If he did, no one had ever seen it. It was a popular belief that if the man couldn't turn into a bat himself, his familiar must be a bat that flew around the castle seeking rule-breakers, like some airborne-rodent version of Mrs. Norris.

The dove puffed out its feathers as if it was affronted by the question, and with a roll of his eyes, Snape gently shooed it away. It retreated to the top of a cupboard and preened itself disinterestedly. Many of the students who were finished with their essays stared at the beautiful bird; it was so out of place in the dark, gloomy dungeons. They had never seen it before, yet Snape did not seem to mind it being in his classroom

"No, Miss Parkinson, it is not," he said at last. "Five more minutes."

* * *

_Dear Severus,_

_I hope this finds you well. If you are keeping your promise, it should. I am safe now; I hope this break-out doesn't affect you negatively. I know Lucius will be angry. Be careful around him; he is very good at catching people off guard. Though that is virtually impossible to do to you, I still worry._

_It is good to have my own wand back in my hand. I can't say I approve of your method of retrieval, but there was no harm done. At least no more than we are already mired in._

_A part of me wants to return to Russia and become a Muggle again. There is nothing left for me in this world, except you and Cass. I don't suppose they would just let you go if you suddenly disappeared…if only it was that simple. I would be content to flee, but I know you would hate to be so far away from the fight._

_I don't want to fight anymore, Severus. The one thing I wanted to do was keep Cass away from all this, and now here he is, in up to his neck with the rest of us. I know I can't expect to have any control over him now, but you and Cass are all I have. You're always saying that you won't live to see the end of this war. I feel differently, but when you have no hope, it is hard for me to hold onto mine._

_Perhaps I am a bad person for wanting to fade away from all this. Maybe I'm weak or cowardly. You put me to shame, Severus. The last few days of my life are what yours is like all the time; I am at my wit's end but you go on, day after day, with an iron will that I do not seem to have._

_Forgive me. I'm being dramatic. I know you hate that – if you were here you'd tell me I'm acting like a silly little Gryffindor dunderhead._

_I hope the Dementors did not frighten you. I do not think it wise to relate all the details in this letter, but trust me when I say they are not what they seem to be._

_Is Remus all right? I am tremendously worried for him. He must have been in a terribly weakened state for the Death Eaters to be able to capture him. That, combined with whatever terrible things they did…I hope he will be able to pull through. I know you did everything you could for him, and I thank you for that._

_I'm getting tired now. Please be careful around Lucius and his son, and I would also recommend you watch out for MacNair. He won't be in the best of moods. You can ask Minerva about that._

_I love you, and I still expect you to keep your promise. Give my regards to everyone._

_Love,_

_Selena_

* * *

_Dear Selena,_

_Many things have happened in a short time. Your concern for my safety would normally be well-warranted, but now your worries must turn to Lucius. The Dark Lord discovered the traitor Igor Karkaroff living in the basement of Malfoy Manor. Apparently Lucius or Narcissa or both had been hiding him, and no one knows why. In any case, Narcissa is dead and Lucius is missing. No one has seen him since the day after your trial. Most of the staff of the school and the Ministry fears the worst, but I am not at all certain that he is dead. Cassius feels the same way. I think it is only a matter of time before we see him again. What state he is in is an entirely different consideration. _

_I do not know why I should feel any sort of regret for his ruination; he has been nothing but a thorn in our sides for the last decade. Perhaps because I knew him before he became a ruthless man, and perhaps because you loved him. But I will not dwell on such things; it would not be wise if either of us wishes to keep our sanity intact._

_As for his son, I think he is still vacillating between what he has been told all his life and what he has seen to be the truth. It is helpful that Cassius is here. Draco has responded to him well, for the most part, and I believe Cass will be able to reach him in ways I never could, at least not without revealing too much._

_I apologize for being so rash in the reacquisition of your wand. I do realize that it could have been a trap or an ambush, but I was so angry that my emotions overwhelmed my sense. I have felt helpless for a long time, as if I am some marionette with two masters who cannot agree on what to do with me. To be unable to protect my own sister, one of the only things anchoring me to this miserable world, is worse than any Unforgivable. _

_I would not think badly of you if you were to return to __Russia__. In fact, I would feel better if you did, but you cannot expect me to abandon all of this to flee with you. I am no feckless Gryffindor, but to run away would steep me in a shame so deep I doubt I could ever truly live. _

_I must go. Give my regards to Flitwick, and do not hesitate to owl if you need anything._

He didn't bother signing the letter. Anyone who was important enough to receive a letter from him would know who the author was. Sighing, he folded it precisely and handed it over to his courier, who gave him a tired smile and lithely transformed.

Severus cast the proper spells on the dove; one for invisibility, one to prevent him from being tracked. Supposedly those precautions were enough, but it still made him nervous. After all, the owl carrying Lupin's potion had somehow been intercepted. The only reason Dumbledore allowed Cassius to relay these letters back and forth was because, if need be, he could hex his way out of any trouble and either find his way back to Hogwarts or blend facelessly into the Muggle world.

He nodded to signify that he was finished, and the bird set off with a flutter of snowy wings. Sitting back in his chair with a sigh, Severus glanced at the stack of essays on the corner of his desk. He felt no desire to grade them. Even the incentive of tearing apart Longbottom's essay was not enough to distract him from his morose mood.

As he sat brooding, a sudden knock sounded against his door. Well, if nothing could distract him from his mood, certainly there was always something to plunge him further into it.

"Enter," he said wearily, resigned to his fate. Who would it be, he wondered, come to make his day a little darker?

Ah, but of course. Who else but the Granger girl?

"For the love of Merlin, what do you want?" he snapped, exasperated.

"Nothing," she replied, marching into the room like she owned it. "I'm just returning this."

He snatched the folder from her outstretched hand. He had nearly thrown it at her in a fit of anger the other night; she was too goddamned persistent for her own good. Someday she would catch him at the wrong time, and that persistence would backfire on her. He wondered how many times he would have to act harshly in order to get her to return to her previous state of hating him.

"Done already?" he sneered, tucking the booklet into a drawer. "I would have thought some of the words would be too big for you."

"If there is one thing you cannot insult me for, Professor, it is my intelligence. That strategy is sadly ineffective," she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest and giving him a look that dared him to respond. He opened his mouth to do just that, but she cut him off. "If you must know, I didn't read it."

That surprised him. A book that Hermione Granger wouldn't read? She would probably even read quidditch history books if she became desperate enough; why not this one?

"And why is that? Are you above such things, girl?"

"No," she replied, abruptly dropping her attitude. "It's not finished yet."

He stared at her, his gaze stony and unreadable. She understood now what she hadn't before. She understood that the next time he was summoned, he likely would not return. That there was a good chance that by this time tomorrow he'd be dead from Cruciatus overexposure, or, God forbid, something even worse. She understood that all the heroism he had displayed could be erased in one night, and that the world would keep going, for better or for worse.

_No,_ he thought, looking away. _It's not finished yet. But it will be soon._

* * *

Selena set the parchment down, frowning.

"Not the correspondence you'd hoped for, hm?" Flitwick asked, noticing her expression.

"You could say that." She glanced over at the couch where Cassius was sleeping soundly. "I asked him about Remus Lupin, and he didn't tell me anything."

"Yes, I've been wondering about the poor fellow myself," Filibus replied, his face turning grave. "He doesn't seem to have much luck on his side lately."

She shook her head.

"I know Severus doesn't like him, but I only asked to know how he was doing. Usually he'd humor me and give me an answer."

"Perhaps he was advised not to discuss him in the letters."

"Maybe," she said, shrugging. That was very plausible, but Severus had been very frank about others who should not have been named in a letter that could fall into the wrong hands. Why was mentioning Remus any worse than mentioning Lucius?

Sighing, she stood and went to sit by the window, staring out at the rain-swept grasslands. Her guess was that they were somewhere in the wilderness of Wales, but there was no way to know for sure. That was the whole point of a safe-house; if more than two or three people knew its exact location, it wasn't safe anymore.

"You don't like it here, do you?" Flitwick asked.

"No. I want to be with the people I care about."

The Charms-professor-turned-fugitive sighed and folded up his two day old copy of the Daily Prophet with a rustle.

"So do I. Believe me, so do I."

* * *

Sunset was tinting the infirmary walls a metallic orange when a voice woke Sirius from the light doze he had slipped into.

"Sirius!" It was a low whisper, accompanied by a light shake.

"Hm?" he said, disoriented. He blinked and looked around, confused. He didn't remember falling asleep, and now he was hearing voices? Suddenly, a head of unruly black hair blinked into existence, followed by a scarred forehead and glasses covering large green eyes.

"Harry! Don't do that to me," he said, smiling in spite of his rebuke.

Harry grinned as he pulled off the invisibility cloak and folded it carefully. He sat on the edge of his godfather's bed and asked,

"How are you feeling?"

"Physically? About 90 percent, I suppose."

"And everything else?"

Sirius exhaled heavily.

"I feel like an ass…among other things."

"Do you still think Snape poisoned the Wolfsbane?"

Sirius shook his head.

"Snape's a greasy git, but he's not stupid. Besides, if he was going to poison anyone, it would be me. I was just so angry…"

"He doesn't exactly like Remus either, you know. Maybe he botched the potion so Remus would kill you in his werewolf form, and once the transformation ended, he'd be an easy target for the Death Eaters."

"Harry, even McGonagall is on his side. When it comes to potions, his pride would get in the way – he would never purposely wreck a potion, unless he was under direct orders from Dumbledore. And even then, who can say?"

"So you think he is loyal to Dumbledore?"

"Harry, this is your fifth year in this school. If he hasn't killed you yet, he isn't going to."

"I guess you're right," he said with a sigh. "How is Remus doing?"

"He hasn't regained consciousness yet. Pomfrey thinks he should soon. The biggest worry is whatever was in the Wolfsbane. She's run tests, but none of them came up with anything conclusive."

"Well, no news is good news."

"I hope so."

Harry frowned, staring at a spot along the wall. A few moments later, he shook his head agitatedly and said,

"What does all of this mean, Sirius?"

Sirius knew what he meant. So many things had happened, so many things had changed…

"I don't know, Harry. I don't know anything anymore."

* * *

"I will give you one last chance to explain your actions, Lucius."

All that met the Dark Lord's words, however, was a cold, defiant stare. Voldemort circled his traitorous subject, his eyes narrowed to slits. Something was not right. He had reapplied the Imperious Charm, but it was not acting on Malfoy the way it should have been. He was resisting him in spite of the charm; if it was working properly it should compel him to answer every question truthfully.

"Who do you serve, Lucius?" he hissed, prodding Malfoy's bruised back with his foot. "Who is your Master?" Again, Malfoy said nothing. There was only that ever-present glare of disdain to indicate that he even comprehended the questions. He had seen that glare before.

Yes, the young Malfoy had been a hard one to break, but Voldemort always got his way. Marius' influence was limited, and he had grown less useful to his Lord each day. Lucius, on the other hand…the young man had shown himself to be most astute in nearly everything. The boy was a Slytherin to the core, and he possessed a fine understanding of the intrigues of politics and subversion. Not to mention that he was gorgeous. That wasn't to say that Marius Malfoy wasn't a handsome man; he most certainly was, but Lucius was beautiful in a way that could scarcely go unrecognized by anyone but a corpse. Often, the most beautiful people could get away with things that others could not. In short, Lucius was the perfect operative. The fact that he did not support Voldemort's ideals was a trifling problem, one easily solved.

He had sent Marius home that evening with one too many bouts of the Cruciatus and a healthy dose of Imperius. He knew that a man was easiest to turn when he was utterly, crushingly alone. If the Dark Lord played his cards correctly, the only Malfoy alive after that night would be Lucius. And Lucius would be his.

* * *

_"Where is he?" Helen gasped, cringing as the act of speaking caused a sharp pain to flare in her chest._

_"The Master Marius is being in the parlor, Missus Helen!" Goochy the house elf trilled nervously, retreating from the doorway._

_"Where is Cassius?" she demanded, starting a third attempt to push herself up from the floor. A moan of pain escaped her, but it could not blunt her determination._

_"Missus Helen, Binky thinks that you should be staying put! Missus Helen is hurt!" the house elf that had been tending to her injuries squeaked._

_"I need to find Cassius!" she said fiercely. "Where is my son!?" She was beyond panic now; she had not heard her son's voice for nearly ten minutes. While the silence was preferable to his screams, it meant that he was unconscious, dead, or in the process of dying. And judging by how badly Marius had beaten her, it was not the former. She could not bear the thought._

_"Binky will look for young Master Cassius if Missus Helen stays put!" the house elf said, nearly beside herself with anxiety at her Mistress's condition._

_"Yes…please, bring him to me…" Helen's face was white with pain, her voice tremulous._

_"Binky will try!" the elf said. The wrinkled little creature snapped her fingers and disappeared._

_"Binky will not get in trouble, will she, Missus?" Goochy asked, his small brown hands rubbing together anxiously._

_"No, Goochy," she answered. For all she knew Marius would kill the house elf if she accidentally crossed his path, but she certainly wasn't going to say that to Goochy. Goochy and Binky were related somehow; exactly how she didn't know, but they had never been apart._

_Thankfully she was right; a moment later Binky reappeared, her tiny body supporting Cassius under his arm and beneath his neck. A choked sob escaped her. Oh, Merlin, what had Marius done? What had Marius done to her little boy?_

_He did not move as she gathered him into her arms. His face was ashen, nearly grey, the left side blooming with red and purple bruises. His fingers were curled, the muscles tense and rigid – an after-effect of excessive Cruciatus. Even as she held him, his little body was wracked with spasms. Placing a hand on his chest, she could feel his heart beating erratically, its rhythm badly disrupted. He needed an anti-convulsion potion and a warm bed or he could very well die. Damn her to hell if she let that happen!_

_Gently she laid him back down on the floor, and with a grimace, pulled herself into some sort of sitting position. With an effort that nearly caused her to pass out, she painstakingly peeled her socks off. They were socks that Lucius had given her last year; grey with emerald stripes and a snake coiling around a broom. Jokingly, he had told her to wear them the day of each of his quidditch matches, to bring him luck. She'd told him he didn't need luck; he had talent._

_She held one out to Goochy, and the other to Binky. The elves' eyes had gone as wide as saucers, full of awe and terror._

_"M-Missus means to give us clothes?" Goochy whispered._

_"Yes," she nodded. "You're free. But you must do one last thing for me."_

_"Anything, Missus!" Binky trilled._

_"You must take Cassius away from here."_

_"To where, Missus?"_

_Sighing, Helen closed her eyes. She hadn't thought of that. Who would take him? Who wouldn't ask questions? And above all, who would care for him in the way he deserved?_

_There was only one such person._

_"Selena Snape. Take him to Selena Snape. You remember her, don't you?"_

_Both elves nodded._

_"Do not come back," she ordered. "You may serve Selena if she wishes it. Please, you must not let anyone take him but her!"_

_Goochy was the first to take the sock from her. Solemnly he placed the sock on his head like a winter hat. It would have been comical under less dire circumstances, the way his pointy ears stuck out and the way the snake stretched across his forehead. Binky followed his lead, looking just as somber, but admirably determined._

_"Goochy and Binky will do as Missus Helen says."_

_"Thank you," she whispered, tears filling her eyes. Cassius would be safe._

_"No, we is thanking you, Missus!" Binky squeaked emphatically. "Binky will miss serving her!"_

_"You must go," Helen said, hearing a loud crash from down the hall. "Go before Marius comes!"_

_They both nodded, the green-tipped toes of her socks swinging behind them. And then, hefting Cassius between them, they were gone, her youngest son in tow._

_She was alone with Marius. _

* * *

_He was too late. Too late. She was limp, her eyes blank and glassy, the pupils already starting to cloud. God, how he had feared this! But he had never, never in a thousand years, thought it would come to pass._

_A creak in the floor told him he was not alone. He looked up, his eyes blazing, and met the haughty countenance of Marius Malfoy. His father. His eyes were wide and crazed, his hair disheveled with bits of mud and grass in it. His blue robes were splashed with blood, the vibrant stain already drying into a dark shade of maroon._

_Unadulterated rage made him spring, his arms outstretched, his hands ready to pummel and beat and crush. He didn't even think to use his wand. It wouldn't be nearly satisfying enough._

_How could you how could you how could you how—_

_"…could you! How could you!" He was screaming, his hands pressing down into the soft flesh of his father's neck. Oh, the bastard hadn't expected this, no he hadn't…his eyes bulged, panicked, and his arms flailed, struggling to escape his eldest son's murderous grip._

_At last, as his consciousness was fading, Marius managed to land open-handed smacks against both of Lucius' ears. Lucius cried out as the sudden pressure caused a terrible pain in his head, and Marius's knee found his midsection, forcing the breath from his lungs._

_He dimly registered the trickle of blood dripping down his jaw as the throbbing pain settled into a dull roar. His eardrum had torn; everything sounded strange and far away as his lungs screamed for air. _

_"Crucio!"_

_It became a thousand times worse, his muscles seizing painfully, his heart struggling to beat through the bombardment, his eyes feeling as though they were being burned right out of his skull…_

_A boot in his ribs, then a foot against his throat._

_"Insolent boy."_

_Lucius remembered his wand as the pressure bore down, closing his windpipe. He couldn't get a spell out, but he'd been practicing casting certain spells without speaking the words; now was the time to see if he could really do anything. He focused intensely on his wand, gathering his will, and made the proper gesture._

_Expelliarmus!! his mind screamed, praying that it would work._

_Marius flew backwards with a force that surprised them both. He slammed into the mantle a few feet above the fireplace, collapsing gracelessly to the floor as his wand settled neatly in Lucius's hand._

_Lucius was too numb to feel any sense of triumph. All he wanted to do was make it to the fireplace to call the proper authorities. His body ached as he forced himself to his feet._

_Breathing did not come easy, even after he made it to the massive fireplace. Reaching for the floo powder made him grit his teeth._

_"I killed the boy. Killed the little shit."_

_Lucius's stomach rose in his throat. He hadn't even thought of Cassius in his shock at seeing his mother. Oh God, his little brother. A little boy. An eight-year-old boy. His anger returned tenfold, turning the edges of his vision black and red. He felt as though his heart might burst right out of his chest._

_His hand shook as he clenched the two wands. He wanted so badly to hex him, to make him scream and writhe and suffer the way his mother and poor, sweet Cass had. But a small part of his brain balked violently at this. He would not sink to the level of a Death Eater. He would not murder his own kin, no matter how despicable his father was._

_"You're going to rot," he barely managed through his teeth, using every bit of his willpower to turn back to the fireplace. "Rot in a cell in Azkaban! How could you, you sick bastard! How could you kill your own family?!!" With each word his voice had grown louder, his tone more desperate; his anguished cries echoed off the high ceilings, and the sheer power that radiated from him caused all the windows to crack or shatter completely._

_Lucius closed his eyes, trying to find some small measure of composure. The moment cost him; by the time he realized Marius had scrambled to his feet, he was too late to dodge the knife. He saw it sink into his gut, all six inches of curved, serrated metal._

_A choked gasp escaped him, but there was less pain than he expected. He had the presence of mind to hold on to both wands, and then, as Marius was drawing the blade out, he pitched forward and head-butted him. As Marius stumbled away, cursing and clutching his bloodied nose, the pain caught up to Lucius._

_He sunk to his knees, feeling his own blood spill hotly over the hand he'd pressed over the wound. A metallic taste welled in his mouth and throat, and he nearly doubled over with a combination of pain and nausea._

_"You're just as worthless as the rest of them, you spineless, Muggle-loving tosspot!"_

_Marius was advancing on him again, and he couldn't speak past the blood in his mouth to deter him. He resigned himself to death easily; at least he would be with his mother and brother._

_The fatal blow never came. Instead, there was a sinuous whisper behind him, and a green bolt of energy flew past his ear, hitting Marius square in the chest. He saw the green light move beneath his father's skin and flash in the pupils of his eyes. Then he fell, the knife clattering out of his hand. He didn't move again. _

_Some unspoken magic wrenched the wands from his hand, and a moment later a hand wove tightly into Lucius's hair, pulling his head back at a painful angle. He was looking up into a demonic face he'd hoped never to see. Lord Voldemort had been handsome once, but the dark magic had changed him, steeping his features with pure evil. Lucius coughed, blood dripping down his chin._

_"You did this. You made him do this."_

_"Astute as always, young Malfoy."_

_"Can't do you own dirty work, can you, you maggot?" Tears were leaking out of the corners of his eyes._

_"You're a Slytherin, Lucius. You know as well as I that there's no need if others are more than willing to do it for you."_

_"Or if you can cast a few Unforgivables."_

_"Such a sharp tongue! I would recommend you learn to hold it, boy, or I may not be able to resist the urge to cut it out."_

_Lucius shivered. He was growing faint from loss of blood. He wished Marius had killed him. The sooner it was over, the better. He was almost relieved when he felt the touch of a wand against the back of his neck. Nothing could have prepared him for the burst of intense pain that followed, but it was over as quickly as it had begun._

* * *

Severus sighed, neatly arranging the stack of essays before slipping them into a drawer. He had forced himself to grade them, and it was with much difficulty and distraction that he'd finally finished them. He was glad he had done it; it had served to remove his thoughts from the Granger girl, at least for the time being.

It had never occurred to him that he would be missed by anyone other than Selena. Perhaps Albus would miss the convenience he provided, Minerva the annoyance, Poppy the potions…but who else was there? No one. No one except for Hermione Granger.

She was just one girl. She shouldn't have made any difference. But she was such an incredible mind in such a precarious position. He wouldn't have admitted it before, but he could no longer deny it. The girl was just like he had been.

Still, none of that mattered. This realization couldn't save him now or any time in the future. It could not do much to benefit her, either. When that call came, he would answer it, and he would die.

As he shut the classroom door and made his way to his personal quarters, he thought that perhaps he was at peace with his imminent future. But that was all dashed to bits when he saw an owl sitting upon his bedpost, a black envelope in its beak.

With shaking hands he opened the letter. The first three readings proved useless, as none of the words made sense. The fourth, however, got through. There was to be a ball in three days' time at Styx, the fondly nicknamed ancestral home of the MacNairs. Severus was to be there, and he was to bring the Malfoy boy.

How long he sat, he did not know. But when at last he found himself able to move again, he went back into the classroom and pulled out the essays. He waved his wand, erasing all his comments and grades. And then, for the next two hours, he struggled to find good things to say.

Every essay wound up with an A on top – even Neville Longbottom's.


	19. Preparation and Conversation

"Veritaserum."

"But my Lord, we have none," Peter Pettigrew squeaked nervously.

"Send Severus another owl. I wish to use it on the traitor."

"But Sir…"

The Dark Lord turned to face his servant, looming impressively over the squat, balding man.

"Are you questioning me, Wormtail?" His high voice was so sinister that Pettigrew quaked in his boots and shrunk away from the overwhelming presence of his Lord.

"No, my Lord! Of course not! It shall be as you command!" He bowed, frantically groping for the hem of Voldemort's robe. With a flick of his foot, the Dark Lord shook off Pettigrew's grubby hands.

"It had better be."

* * *

"What do you think he means to do with young Malfoy?" Dumbledore asked, his face grave.

"I don't know," Severus answered. He was very still in his chair, almost eerily composed. "I suspect he wants to test the boy's loyalty. He will want him to take the Mark. Perhaps he wants to see if he is ruthless enough to take his father's place in the Inner Circle."

"Do you think he has Lucius?"

"I do not see how it could be otherwise. You know how his sick mind works. He takes great joy in ruining families."

"And do you think Lucius knows of your…dual roles?"

"I am sure that Karkaroff told him. I don't know if he believes it."

"That will be meaningless if Lucius is put under and Imperius or given a Veritaserum."

Severus nodded. His face was like stone; it was as if he was discussing the weather. Frowning, Dumbledore went on.

"Perhaps it is lucky that Lucius was revealed as a traitor. Anything he says now will have much less weight than before. Voldemort will attribute it to him trying to save his neck."

"He can't lie under the influence of Veritaserum, no matter how much he wants to," Severus said, sipping at his cooling tea robotically.

"I don't know if that is necessarily true anymore," Dumbledore murmured, steepling his fingers, his brow creased in thought. This was the first thing that evoked a reaction from the Potions Master; he looked up from his tea very quickly, the ice momentarily dissolving out of his glance.

"Why do you say that?"

"Minerva told me that just before she and Cassius broke your sister out of Azkaban, Fudge paid her a visit." Snape's eyes narrowed at this. "He forced her to drink Veritaserum and tried to get her to implicate you as a Death Eater. He offered her a deal of sorts – she gave you up, and she would be freed, sent off to some paradise while you rotted away in her place."

"And?"

"She told Minerva she couldn't resist the potion, and yet, right when she was about to say yes, something helped her to lie. Something made her say no."

"We already knew the effects of Veritaserum are sometimes questionable on psychics."

"She could not stop herself from answering his other questions truthfully."

"I'm not convinced," Severus said, crossing his arms over his chest and seeming to sink in upon himself. "Let us worry about Draco before we worry about me."

"Yes, you're right," Dumbledore nodded, stroking his beard. "Will Draco take the Mark?"

"I don't think he truly wants to," Snape said thoughtfully. "He was not pleased with what his Mother did to him. That, coupled with the brutality he witnessed at the Revel, and Narcissa's murder…"

"So you think he's leaning our way."

"I hope and pray that he is. Cassius has been a good influence. I just wish there was more time…"

Dumbledore sighed.

"There is never enough time anymore, dear boy, but we will do what we can."

* * *

Draco picked at his plate out of politeness. His appetite had not been strong since he'd been presented with the evidence of his mother's death a few days before. Nor had his morale; the only thing that pulled him out of his gloom was when Cassius came to visit him. He had found more and more questions to ask, and though his uncle's answers were sometimes vague and elusive, he was finally able to piece together some of the events of the past.

He was in Snape's sitting room. The food was good, but his stomach seemed to have shrunk to the size of a fizzing whizbee. Snape was not eating much either. He never did; Draco could not remember a single time that he had looked up at the head table during any meal and seen Snape stuffing his face. He was always either staring moodily out at the hall, nibbling daintily on something, or just holding his glass of pumpkin juice, occasionally taking a sip.

Cassius was asleep on the couch on the other side of the room. He'd nearly nodded off into his food, and Snape had been quite insistent that he get some rest. Cassius had not put up much of a fight, and Draco wondered what had made him so exhausted.

Finally he could no longer stand his own curiosity. He asked his question point-blank.

"Professor Snape, sir, why did you call me here?"

Snape seemed to tense at the question. Slowly, painstakingly, he patted at his lips with his napkin. Then, setting his fork down, he cleared his throat and fixed his gaze on Draco.

"Draco, you and I have an appointment to attend."

Confused, Draco asked, "What kind of appointment?"

Snape was slow to respond. But at last the words came out of him, quietly and dripping with regret.

"The worst kind."

* * *

He felt as though he was under water, coming up from the very bottom of the fathomless lake. He could see the light oscillating above him, feel the water grow warmer around him, but he could not go too fast. Too fast and he would sink back down, his brain enraptured and his insides full of bubbles. But he wanted that fickle light, wanted that warmth so desperately…

At last he broke the surface. Remus Lupin opened his eyes. A second later he moaned and closed them, for Madam Pomfrey had forgotten to draw the curtains.

* * *

Selena came awake too suddenly, gasping as she sat up. Her mouth was dry, and she felt as though she was suffocating beneath the blankets. Tossing them off impatiently, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and got to her feet. A moment later she had to reach out and grab the nightstand. Her knees were weak and trembling.

She knew what she had just dreamed, but she couldn't believe it. She walked over to the window and fumbled with the lock before throwing it open. The cool night air caressed her, cooling her heated skin. Her nightshirt was sticking to her, and she could feel a drop of sweat sliding down the small of her back. She leaned against the windowsill and choked down the urge to cry.

There was nothing unnatural about the dream. She had always liked Remus, after all, and he was on her mind a lot recently. There was nothing wrong with dreaming about him like that. People had those kinds of dreams all the time. Nothing wrong at all. Nothing, of course, except that it made her feel intensely confused and guilty.

Seeing Lucius after so long had been enough of a shock. He looked, for all the world, just like his father had. It was terrifying. Even more terrifying was a fact that she could no longer deny: she was still in love with him. After everything he'd done, everything that had happened…she could not resist that strange attraction that had pushed them together in the first place. Now he was missing, maybe even dead, and he probably deserved whatever he was getting. It hurt just the same. Her heart had never really stopped aching for him, and somewhere along the way, it had lost its ability to differentiate between the Lucius of the past and the creature he had become.

And now, only a few days after so many disastrous happenings, her mind was tossing her into bed with Remus Lupin. Not just any bed; his old bed in Gryffindor tower, so many years ago. The only bed she'd ever cheated in.

She hadn't gone far with him, but it had been such a delicious thrill to kiss him and touch him and make him shudder. She couldn't justify it; her mind had always been so clear, so blank, so free of thought when he brought her to his bed. Afterwards, she would reason that he had started it, and of course she was attracted to him in some way. He _was_ one of her best friends at school. She just had to put a stop to it, that was all. But every time…every time it was the same. Warm lips, rough hands, guilty silencing charms…

It was his passion. Remus was by nature a fairly quiet and reserved person. To see his face flushed and rapturous, his hands twining in the bedclothes, the look of satisfaction when he caused pleasure…it was so personal, so secret, that she had always felt that it was hers and hers alone. It was automatic and uncontrollable, as if some force was compelling them to seek each other out. For nearly a year she had found herself spontaneously in his bed every now and then. Never once had it made her feel guilty, upon her return to Lucius. Remus was the guilty one, always apologizing and saying things about how they shouldn't, they really shouldn't. And yet he never stopped it. She had been the one to end it, only two months before Lucius had proposed.

She still didn't know why it had happened. But those times…those few times when his hands, surer than she thought they might have been, slid beneath her robes and onto her skin…She remembered gentle touches and skilled fingers, the way he'd always kiss her brutally just as she wanted to cry out, perhaps because he was afraid she'd call the wrong name. Why hadn't she ended it sooner? Why hadn't she felt guilty? What was wrong with her that she could do that?

Selena blinked back tears. Maybe she loved Remus, too, but differently than she loved Lucius. Perhaps her feelings for Remus were completely normal. No matter what they were, it was a doomed relationship. One couldn't settle down and have children with a werewolf. Not to mention that he was on Voldemort's list, and if the Dark Lord could not be stopped, he wasn't likely to survive the upcoming year.

Who was she kidding? She probably wouldn't survive the war, either. Why was she even thinking about relationships? They were pointless when the world was the way it was now. She thumped her fist softly against the window frame. What kind of psychic was she, anyway? She couldn't even sort out her own issues. How could she hope to do anything as significant as predict the downfall of the Dark Lord?

A shiver wracked her. It was amazing how quickly a person could go from burning up to freezing. Selena looked at the bed; its covers were a mess, twisted and bunched. She would sleep no more tonight. She couldn't stand the places her mind might take her.

* * *

Clearing his throat after a long silence, Draco asked,

"What's going to happen at this appointment, Professor?" It was clear by the slight waver in his voice that Draco knew precisely what kind of meeting Snape was referring to.

"That all depends," Snape said, standing and walking slowly over to one of his bookshelves.

"On what?"

"You should know the answer to that." He dragged a finger down the spine of a thick, leather bound book.

Frowning slightly, Draco thought.

"It depends…on what has been said. About me, about my father, who has spoken, and in what order…" he said shrewdly. His eyes narrowed as he thought. He looked intensely like Lucius in that moment. It was not often that Severus could spot the elder Malfoy in his son, but generally he found that those times came when the boy was calm. When he was wound up by Potter or some other ridiculous thing, he had absolutely no sense, and rarely thought things out. But when he was unaffected, he was brilliant. If he gave the boy a calming draught, perhaps there was hope.

"And what else?" Snape prompted.

"It also depends on how I handle myself."

"Indeed, Mr. Malfoy." Severus turned in a swirl of robes. Unless Draco was being terribly clever (which he certainly could be), he did not suspect Snape's loyalties. He thought the meeting was all about him. For all Severus knew, it might be. But Lucius had been harboring Karkaroff for a reason, and if the Dark Lord had 'interrogated' him…

"Will they hate me right away for what my father has done?" Draco asked thoughtfully, chewing the inside of his lip.

"Some will. I cannot really say, Draco. I haven't had a chance to sound them out."

"Do you hate me for it?" his voice was emotionless, his eyes completely unreadable.

Snape exhaled. There was more depth to this young man than anyone knew. He had been wary of teaching Lucius's son, initially, but after a few years of observing Draco's rash and whiny behavior, he had convinced himself that he didn't have much to worry about. He thought, perhaps, that recently Draco had been using those assumptions for his own benefit.

"Draco, I know your father very well. And if there is one thing that always struck me about him, it is that he always has a reason. He is a very deliberate man. If he gave Karkaroff asylum, he must have had some reason for it. That gives me the luxury of withholding my judgment until all the facts are known. Unfortunately, some of my associates have neither the patience nor the intellect to understand this."

Draco looked down at his hands, but not before Severus noticed the faint flicker of a pleased expression cross his face. When next he lifted his head, his face was coldly determined. Again, Severus was reminded forcibly of Lucius. Draco Malfoy was growing up, and none too soon.

"What must I do, then?" he asked.

* * *

Severus had kept Draco for well over an hour, coaching him on how he ought to act before the Dark Lord and the other Death Eaters. He absorbed everything quickly and steadily, keeping his emotions rigidly in check. However, he knew just from looking at the boy that he was thinking of nothing but his father.

"Draco," he said sharply. The blond head snapped up, the eyes flashing slightly. He had been in the middle of practicing the proper obeisance to the Dark Lord.

"First of all, never look at the Dark Lord like you just looked at me, if you hope to avoid the Cruciatus Curse."

Draco nodded, chastened.

"Second of all, you must stop thinking of your father. This meeting is not to determine whether _he_ lives or dies; that much has already been decided, I'm afraid." He paused for a moment, letting the words sink in. They hung in the air between the two Slytherins like icicles. Draco's eyes did not flash as they had before, but the muscles around his mouth tightened ever so slightly.

"Then what _is_ the meeting for, Professor?" he said, a cold undercurrent in his voice.

"It is to determine whether _you_ can make up for your family's disgrace. More than that, I suspect that the Dark Lord would not like to be without the Malfoy family's significant monetary assets."

"Are you joking?" This time, Draco could not hide his horrified look. "All he wants us for is _money_?"

Snape rolled his eyes.

"Draco, revolutions have to be funded somehow. He also wants you for your influence as one of the oldest, purest wizarding families in the world."

"Who says I'm going to give him any money?" Draco looked positively aristocratic in that moment; his head was high, his lip curled, his voice haughty, and his posture conveying both power and defiance. "I'm not going to finance anyone who wants to kill my father."

There. Draco was getting worked up, and his sense had fled.

"_Mister_ Malfoy, you are _missing_ the point!" Severus roared.

"Then _please_ enlighten me!" Draco replied contemptuously.

"Money can buy freedom. So can servitude. The two combined, _IF YOU PLAY YOUR CARDS RIGHT_, may be enough to save your father."

Silence fell between them again. Slowly Draco's anger faded from his face.

"Somehow I think my father would rather die than see me grovel before the Dark Lord," he said softly. Snape's mouth fell open of its own accord. Noticing his expression, Draco quickly added, "In this situation."

Severus stared. Maybe, just maybe, there was more of the old Lucius left than he had been led to believe all these years. Shifting from foot to foot nervously, Draco changed the subject.

"Professor…what should I do about the Mark?"

"What do you mean?"

"If they want me to take it…?"

Severus thought long and hard, his eyes never leaving the young man in front of him.

"I will handle that, Draco. But you must not appear as though you _don't_ want it. In fact, look positively covetous of it."

Draco nodded. He looked a little pale. Severus grasped his shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring way.

"I will be giving you a calming draught before we leave. It will be…nerve-wracking."

He nodded again.

"I…I think I'll need it."

* * *

"You really straddled the line with him," Cassius said, once Draco had left. Severus had forgotten that he was even there; he wondered how much the animagus had heard.

"He is straddling it pretty thoroughly, himself."

Cassius nodded. "Do you think he's really prepared?"

"No."

"Me either."

"He is much more sensible and clever when he is calm."

"Hence the calming draught?"

"Yes. I know he can do it if his emotions are properly controlled. Tea?"

"Light and sweet." He sat down across from Severus, still looking tired.

"Can you tell which way he will go?" the dark-haired man asked, staring at the cream as it mixed into the tea.

"I can hope, but I can't guess."

"Cass, what will happen if they Avada me the moment we get there?" Snape asked. His hands came up to cover his face. Cassius sat up straight, sloshing tea onto the front of his robes.

"Why would that happen?" he asked.

"The man they say Lucius was hiding…he knew."

"About you being a double agent?"

"Yes."

"And you think he told Lucius."

"Why else would Lucius protect him? He had information that was possibly valuable to Lucius. Lucius wouldn't kill him until he knew the truth."

"Would he have been able to prove it?"

"He is astute. He may have begun to put things together in his mind…"

"If he reached the conclusion that this deserter was telling the truth, would he have given you up?" Cassius looked faintly ill at the thought.

"Maybe, maybe not. He most certainly would have blackmailed me. But you see…this would be the perfect time to give me up, to get himself out of trouble. And even if he didn't want to, the Dark Lord can be most persuasive."

Cassius' head hung. "This is what my brother has become."

"We made our beds, Cass."

"No!" he said, a sudden ire rising in him. His fist thumped on the table, rattling the teacups. "No. That man is not Lucius. Not my Lucius."

"If he is not Lucius, then I am not Severus."

Ignoring the comment, Cassius went on. "You don't understand, Severus. He walked out. He walked out on _the Malfoy fortune_. No one in their right mind does that."

"Being in love hardly qualifies as being in the right mind. He was in love with a girl society told him he couldn't have. He broke the rules, and then he was disappointed. It was backlash."

"He walked out on our father, Severus, in mid-lecture. I would never have had the courage to do that. I was terrified that Marius would hex him when he turned his back."

"Marius abused you. Of course you were terrified of him."

"Exactly, Severus," Cassius said. He was becoming more and more agitated every moment. "Lucius _saw_ what Voldemort did to people. It disgusted him. Do you think that just changed over night?"

"It didn't change over night."

A look of despair came into Cass's eyes. His agitation increased. His hands were shaking.

"No, Severus, you _don't_ understand. The house elves, Goochy and Binky…they went to see him the day after he got out of St. Mungo's to tell him I was alive. He hexed them within an inch of their lives. The house elves he grew up with, Severus. And…he sent them back with a message."

An increasing feeling of horror washed over Severus. Cassius was fighting tears now.

"What was the message?" he asked softly. The bit about the house elves was shocking enough; Severus remembered several times that Lucius had complained about having to find new house elves after the attack, because he had liked and trusted the old ones. Even more so, recently, given the betrayal of Dobby…

"He said…" Cassius took a breath, a look of pain crossing his face. "He told them they were fools and that he didn't like being lied to. He said that even if they weren't lying, he wished I was dead, because I was worthless, and that if he ever saw me or the elves again, he would finish the job."

"That – that doesn't sound like him at all," Severus stammered. "That sounds more like something—"

"Something our father would say?"

Severus nodded. "How did you…certainly Selena didn't tell you this to your face when you were eight years old!"

"No," he said. "I overheard Goochy and Binky telling her, once they were healed. I was supposed to be in bed."

"Then…all this time, he's known you are alive?"

"I don't think he believed them. Selena wasn't stupid. She wasn't going to send the poor elves again, and if that had been his response to news of _me_…she was sure he'd kill her if she went."

Severus rubbed his temples. This made things infinitely more complicated, and certainly gave Cassius's feelings more merit. He was thinking about the possibilities already. It was far-fetched, but so were many things associated with the Dark Lord. And Lucius, for all his faults, had loved his little brother intensely. Severus remembered the effort he would put into the boy's birthday presents and how his eyes lit when he spoke of him. Even if he'd had a change of feelings about the Death Eaters, he would never, ever have rejected Cassius like that. Severus searched for words, but all he could manage was,

"Cassius."

The blond man sighed. "I know."

"Why didn't Selena ever tell me?" Severus had asked the question without expecting an answer, but Cassius had one ready.

"She was afraid."

He looked at his companion incredulously. "Afraid of me? Of her own twin brother?"

"She saw how Lucius had changed. Blood made no difference to him. And you were following in Lucius's footsteps…"

"My God."

Cassius nodded. He swirled his cold tea around in the cup.

"As they say…what a tangled web we weave."

* * *

As Draco made his way back to the Slytherin dormitory, his stomach rumbled. He remembered that he hadn't really eaten at Snape's, and the exercises of the last few hours had been quite draining. He turned back the way he had come, heading toward the kitchens. Thoughts of the meeting rose in his mind, but he pushed them back down. He needed to have a clear head for a while. If he kept thinking about it, it would drive him mad. That certainly wouldn't help him, unless he went mad enough to—

Draco bumped into something, and none too softly. He heard a muffled, "Oof!" as he lost his balance. He hadn't expected it, but thankfully he managed to avoid falling gracelessly to the floor. Instead he caught himself against the wall. He scraped his knuckle slightly, but that was vastly preferable to both a bruised arse and a bruised ego.

He looked around, figuring he had missed a low statue or an urn. But he'd been in the middle of the hall; why on earth would anything be there? Perhaps Peeves had been at work? But there was nothing on the floor, save dust. And he'd heard someone get the wind knocked out of them…

"Potter?"

There was a swish as Harry pulled the hood of the Invisibility Cloak back.

"Going…to report me…to Snape?" he gasped, grimacing. "Can't call Filch…you're out too."

Draco looked at his floating head as he struggled to regain his breath.

"Kitchens?" the Slytherin asked coolly.

"What? Oh, yeah," Harry said. "Smushed most of it against my robes, thanks to you."

"That's why you shrink it and put it in your pocket, idiot." With that, Draco began to walk away.

"You're not going to report me?" Harry called after him, his voice full of incredulity.

"Oh, honestly, Potter, what is the point?"

"Um…house points and your twisted, sadistic glee at having made my day worse?"

Malfoy stopped, but didn't turn around.

"Potter, contrary to what you think, you are not the only person in this school that has some very heavy things to ponder. You are also not the only person that gets hungry after lights out. Really, Potter, there are a lot of things that you think are unique to you that _aren't_."

For a moment Harry felt insulted, but then he bit down on his ire. Malfoy wasn't going to report him, so he could insult him all he wanted. But he couldn't suppress the urge to draw more out of Malfoy; it was the most the Slytherin had ever said to him.

"And what heavy things do you have to ponder, Malfoy?" he couldn't resist asking.

"What do you think, Potter?" Draco snarled, turning to face him.

"Who you're going to kill first when you become a Death Eater? Hardly a challenging dilemma, don't you think?" Harry sniped, waving his hands in the air as if he were a particularly eager target. He hadn't meant to say it, but it came naturally with Draco.

"Fuck you, Potter." Draco turned and resumed his walk, his hands in the pockets of his robes.

Harry closed his eyes, remembering the altercation in the hospital wing. He remembered how angry and…_hurt_ Malfoy had seemed at their accusations. Not only that…Merlin, Malfoy's mother had just been murdered and his father was missing (no matter how much of an utter bastard he was). He had overstepped things. There were insults, and there was cruelty. He had just been cruel.

"Malfoy!" he called. Draco ignored him. Sighing in annoyance, Harry gathered the cloak in his hands so that he would not trip over it and jogged after the blond boy. "Malfoy!" he tried again, from a few yards off. Draco was determinedly ignoring him. "DRACO!" he tried, nearly at the top of his lungs.

At this, Malfoy whirled. He looked furious.

"You bloody arsehole! You have no right to call me that! You have _no _right to speak the name my father gave me!"

In spite of himself, Harry took a step back. Draco advanced, his cheeks pink with anger and his eyes nearly silver with rage.

"I'm not one of your stupid friends who will accept your apologies just because you're the goddamn Boy Who Lived! You treat them like shit, you know, and then act all wounded when they desert you!"

"You should talk about treating friends like shit! Look at how you treat Crabbe and Goyle!"

"We both know that those two have about five brain cells between the two of them, and four belong to Goyle! You would snap at them, too, Potter! And that is NOT the point. Why don't you just call Filch down to the both of us!? Bleeding imbecile!"

Almost on cue, they heard a shuffling and the faint echoing of Filch's voice.

"Where are they, Mrs. Norris, dear?"

"Fuck!" Draco whispered, paling. "Fuck. I can't have detention tomorrow. I can't. I _can't_. He'll die!"

"Shut up!" Harry whispered forcefully. Before Draco could say or do anything more, Harry had stepped forward and wrapped the cloak around both of them. Draco froze. Harry was pressed against his side; they were too big for the cloak to cover them fully any other way.

"Stay perfectly still," Harry whispered next to his ear. "We can pray that Mrs. Norris won't smell us."

"You've got _food_ all over you, Potter," Draco murmured. Harry could not figure out why he seemed to terrified of getting one stupid detention. He'd had them before.

"Crap. Ah…do you know any spells that cover scent?" Harry whispered frantically.

"Can't remember. Have any dungbombs? Stink pellets?"

"No."

Draco's breath was coming faster. He looked as though he was going to cry. A moment later, however, his brow furrowed.

"The food, Potter! Toss the food all over the floor, and let's knock over the suit of armor and that urn over there. He'll think it was Peeves."

"But --!" Harry sputtered ineffectually. Draco had already darted out from under the cloak. He drew his wand and, waving it emphatically, he blasted the suit of armor apart. The clatter of the falling metal sounded horribly loud in the empty corridor. Harry pointed his wand at the urn and used the same spell. The plaster blasted apart, and using the levitation spell, Harry scattered the pieces all over the ground. As Draco dove back under the cloak, Harry tossed the food up in the air. It landed in disarray on the floor mere seconds before Filch rounded the corner.

Harry and Draco were pressed against one another in an even more embarrassing position now: front to front. Draco gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. Harry thought of what must be going through his mind and resisted the insane urge to laugh. It was worth it; it was worth being squashed against Draco Malfoy much too intimately, because Filch took the bait.

"Oh, Mrs. Norris!" he crooned. "Look what that nasty Peeves has done!" The cat meowed as she surveyed the carnage, her red eyes sweeping over the bits of food and the jagged edges of the urn. "We'll get that nasty poltergeist, we will!" Filch ranted, shaking his fist at the ceiling. "Come on, Mrs. Norris, we'd best leave a note for Dumbledore. Never takes me seriously about Peeves, that one! Now he'll have to, blasting things like this!"

Harry rolled his eyes. Peeves had done a lot worse than blow up a suit of armor or throw food all over the place in his short tenure at Hogwarts. Filch moved away slowly. Mrs. Norris was a bit more reluctant, but gave up after a moment and trotted off after her master.

Harry felt himself release the breath he had been holding. To his great surprise, Draco didn't move away the second they were safe. Harry swallowed, feeling a bit worried. He could feel the other boy…shaking?

"Are you…?" Harry didn't know how he intended to finish the question, but it didn't matter, because Draco seemed to snap out of it and took a step back. He still looked pale, and when he lifted his hands to his face, they were trembling. What the hell was wrong with Malfoy? The way he was acting, he had worse anxiety problems than Hermione, and that was something. What was even more surprising was that he wasn't even trying to conceal it from Harry.

"Malfoy, are you all right?" he asked. The cloak still covered them, with a slight dip between their heads.

"Fine, arsehole." Malfoy blinked and stood up straighter. Something like his usual haughty look returned to his face, and he appraised Harry. "At least I know you don't get a hard on from dangerous situations."

"What?!" Harry exploded indignantly.

"Some people think you do, you know."

"What? What the—"

"Don't kill the messenger, Potter." Draco ducked out from underneath the cloak, and began walking away.

"Where are you going?"

Draco turned and spoke very slowly, as if he was addressing a simpleton. "To…the…kitchens."

"How're you going to get back without getting caught?"

"I have my ways, Potter."

"Just…I'll come with you. All my food is ruined, anyway."

Draco looked at the bits of food on the floor as if he was noticing them for the first time. A decidedly evil smirk crept over his features.

"Let's clean it all up, just to annoy Filch."

Harry laughed.

"You're a bastard, Malfoy."

"Come now, Potter. I'm completely legitimate."

Harry shook his head and reassembled the suit of armor. Draco made the urn come together in one spell, the pieces oscillating and whirling until they all fit together again. It was an impressive bit of magic, and one he didn't know. He raised an eyebrow at Malfoy, who shrugged.

"I liked to break things, as a kid," he explained. "It fascinated me, how whole things exploded into bits. After a while, my father decided it would just be easier to teach me this spell than to yell at me every time I broke something nice." The humor of the answer took Harry by surprise, and he chuckled. It was strange how easily he could picture a flustered Lucius Malfoy standing over a broken vase, with a young Draco looking sheepish nearby.

"Did you grow out of that?" Harry asked, banishing a piece of pastry into the helmet of the suit of armor. This was probably, he reflected, the most bizarre conversation he'd ever had. Draco waved his wand at the pudding spattered on the stone floor, and it turned into a bundle of daisies.

"I thought I did, but that felt awfully nice, just now," he said, gesturing at the armor. Half a sandwich zoomed into the helmet.

"That's going to stink in a week," Harry said, still surprised at how unguarded Draco was acting.

"Not our problem," the blond boy shrugged. Then, after a moment of thought, he waved his wand again and the remaining crumbs on the floor turned into ants. Scenting the food, they quickly headed toward the armor and began to crawl up the legs. "That solves that, doesn't it?"

Harry snickered at the scene. The only thing left now was the bundle of daisies in the middle of the hall. Filch would be livid.

"So the great Harry Potter is not as virtuous as he seems." Draco was eyeing him thoughtfully.

"I'm just a regular person, Malfoy. People forget that."

Draco turned away and headed toward the kitchens once more. Harry's earlier guilt returned full force as he walked just behind him.

"Malfoy, I'm sorry. I, of all people, should know what it's like when people make assumptions about you without even knowing you."

"Potter."

"What?"

"You should learn to let people stay angry at you. It won't kill you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You need enemies. Enemies prepare you."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"Slytherin philosophy, Potter. Clearly it's lost on you."

Harry shook his head, confused and irritated. But Draco said no more; he merely reached out and tickled the pear.

"Um…"

"What, Potter?"

"I should go in first."

"Why?"

"Ah…well…to tell Dobby to clear out."

"The Headmaster charmed him to be able to feel my proximity. He won't be there." Harry, whether he realized it or not, had an accusing look on his face. Draco felt the strange need to set him straight. "I never mistreated him, Potter. My father always told me not to, though he didn't always stick to that one, himself."

"Do as I say, not as I do," Harry murmured.

"What?" Malfoy turned to look at him.

"It's a muggle saying. Do as I say, not as I do. It refers to parents or leaders who set rules and don't go by them, and can't set any kind of example."

"That's…that's…" but Draco never got a chance to say what he was thinking, for a swarm of house elves had arrived to usher them into the kitchen.

"Welcome, Misters Potter and Malfoy!" a small female elf trilled. "What would you like?"

* * *

Draco was distracted for the entirety of the strange meal. The house elves found nothing odd about the two of them having a midnight snack together, but really, it felt like reality had stopped somewhere in the corridor outside.

Draco's mind was racing. _Do as I say, not as I do. _It was the most intelligent muggle saying he'd ever heard. _Do as I say, not as I do._ It could be applied to his father more times than Draco could count. He felt as though he had just made some incredible discovery; his heart pounded and he could barely concentrate on the food he was picking at.

_…not as I do…_

"Malfoy, why did you come to the kitchens if you weren't even hungry?"

"I was," he said absently. "I am."

"Then eat. It's almost twelve thirty."

"I'll take it with me." Still his voice was far off, uninterested. Harry shrugged and returned to his own food, wondering what had put Draco in this extremely mercurial state.

Suddenly Draco's eyes cleared, and he looked up at Harry.

"Potter, what does it mean if what the person says is the same as what they do?"

"What?"

"The saying, Potter. What if the say and do are the same?"

"If they were the same it would be teaching by example."

"But what if the person says things…but doesn't really mean them? And does them?"

"What are you on about, Malfoy? It's just a stupid saying. Don't overanalyze it."

"It's _not_ stupid, Potter. What does it mean if they don't mean what they say, even if they do it?"

"It means they don't know what they want," Harry said, beginning to feel annoyed.

"Or that they're just saying it for someone else's benefit?" Draco pressed, leaning forward.

"Yes, I suppose that could be true," Harry said slowly. What the hell was with Malfoy?

"Potter," Draco mumbled. "Fucking muggles. Genius."

"There is something wrong with you," Harry said.

"And how," Draco replied. His face had taken on a frightening intensity. "Care to escort me back to my common room, Potter?"

"Not particularly."

"Potter. _Harry_," he said, unable to keep the word from sounding distasteful. His palms were pressed on the small table between them. "My entire life depends on me not getting detention tomorrow night. And I am _not_ joking." As an afterthought, he added softly, "Though I might die anyway, detention or not."

"What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Malfoy?" Harry asked. A worm of fear crawled into his gut. Malfoy was not acting normally by any means, and there was something so eerie about his worst school enemy fearing for his life and _confiding_ in him about it.

"Just…this one time in your life, Potter, trust me."

"I don't trust you as far as I can throw you." He didn't need to add that that was not very far.

"Another muggle saying?"

"Yeah."

Without hesitation, Draco reached into his pocket and placed his wand on the table.

"Trust me defenseless?" he asked. That overwhelming intensity was still there, and Harry could scarcely move from his shock. After a minute, he reached out and took the wand. It was so different from his own, and felt awful in his hand.

"Trust you defenseless?" he said thoughtfully. "Absolutely not."

Draco Malfoy smiled, the first real smile Harry had ever seen on his face.

"Good boy."

Harry was itching to get back to Gryffindor Tower. He needed to talk to someone about this, and fast. But he doubted Draco would let him be until he walked him back, so he stood up and held out the cloak.

"Let's go."

* * *

Harry crept quietly into the dormitory. From the usual sounds, he could tell that everyone was asleep. Normally he would hesitate to wake Ron, but not tonight. Stashing the invisibility cloak, he made his way over to Ron's bed and slowly pushed back the canopy.

"Ron!" he whispered sharply. Ron twitched in his sleep and mumbled something. "Ron!" he tried one more time, with the same results. Sighing in annoyance, Harry shook his friend gently. Ron came awake slowly, staring up at Harry's dark form.

"'Arry?" he said, his voice thick with sleep.

"Yeah."

"Everything ok?" he asked, blinking owlishly.

"I don't know. Shove over."

Ron scooted to the side of the bed and made room for Harry. Harry climbed onto the bed and pulled the curtains closed behind them. After a moment's thought, he cast a silencing charm.

"What's up?" Ron asked. Now that he was fully awake, concern had crept into his expression.

"Well, I went down to the kitchens for a snack, and to see Dobby."

"And?"

"And I bumped into Malfoy, literally."

Ron tensed instantly. "What did the bastard do?"

"Nothing, Ron."

"What? Nothing?"

"Nothing. He wasn't even going to report me. He just told me I was an idiot for not shrinking the food down and putting it in my pocket, because it had gotten all over the front of my robes when I bumped into him."

"But…but why?" Ron's face was contorted in confusion.

"I don't know! I asked him, and he said there was no point. I couldn't believe it!"

"No point in ratting you out? Who is he and what has he done with Malfoy?"

"Then I said something really nasty to him. He didn't even take out his wand. He just told me to fuck off and kept going toward the kitchens!"

"Normally he'd try to hex your face off, or something!"

"I know."

"So he just…left you alone?" Ron was grimacing as if it were a completely foreign concept.

"I went after him, to apologize."

Ron looked at him as if he had seven heads. "Why? Whatever you said, he probably deserved it."

"No. It was really cruel, and with his parents, and all…"

"Harry, you should have just taken a bit of luck where you found it and left!"

"Well, I was worried about Dobby, to be honest. What if Malfoy saw him in the kitchens?"

"I never thought about that."

"So I went after him, but he was ignoring me, so I shouted for him. He rounded on me and we had a pretty good screaming match right in the middle of the hall."

"He screamed at you," Ron said incredulously. "He didn't hex you?"

"Never even took out his wand."

"But…that's totally…"

"It gets better. As we're shouting at each other, we hear Filch coming. All of a sudden Malfoy goes pale and starts babbling about how if he gets detention for tomorrow night he'll die!"

"But he gets detention all the time, at least when McGonagall catches him."

"Yeah. I pulled him under the cloak with me. I thought maybe we'd get lucky and Mrs. Norris wouldn't smell us, but he pointed out that I still had the food all over me."

"…You were under the cloak with Malfoy?"

Harry gave his friend an exasperated look. "Yes."

"You…pulled _Malfoy_ under the cloak to save him from detention."

"Yes. Honestly, Ron, he looked like he was about to cry."

Ron looked faintly nauseated. A moment later he asked, "So did it work?"

"At the last second Malfoy said we should make it look like Peeves had been down there, so we blasted apart a suit of armor and one of those big urns and threw the food all over the floor. Filch took the bait."

"So you both avoided detention."

"Yeah. Ron, listen to me. Malfoy was _shaking_. He was really afraid of something."

"I'd imagine he has a lot of things to be afraid of, recently. Not so nice when your family's corruption is revealed, now is it." There was a hint of malicious glee in Ron's voice.

Harry shook his head. "So Filch left, and we cleaned it up."

"Why'd you clean it up?"

"To annoy Filch. Malfoy's idea."

"Style points for Malfoy," Ron said grudgingly.

"He was talking to me as if we talked every day. It was weird."

"I'd imagine."

"So he started to go towards the kitchens again, and I remembered about Dobby. I told him I was going to get more food, and that I should go in first. He asked why, and I said that I ought to tell Dobby to clear out."

"Did he get mad?"

"No. He just rolled his eyes and said Dumbledore had put some kind of charm on Dobby so they could avoid one another. Then he said something about how he never mistreated the elf, because his father had always told him not to."

"Yeah, I'm sure Lucius Malfoy said that," Ron scowled.

"He admitted his father didn't always go by his own rules. So then I said, 'Do as I say, not as I do', because it reminded me of it. You know that saying, right?"

Nodding, Ron said, "Yeah, Mum uses it sometimes when Dad does something he tells us not to do." _Like driving enchanted Ford __Anglias__ all over creation, _Harry thought.

"He asked me to repeat it, and I explained it to him. Then he got all sullen and quiet. And a few minutes later he started asking me all these bizarre questions about if the person doesn't mean what they say, but they do it anyway, and what did that mean." Harry shrugged; the whole exchange was still very mysterious to him.

"Maybe he's on some kind of drug. The normal Malfoy would've hexed you the second he knew you were there."

"This is the strangest part, Ron. He asked me if I wanted to walk him back, with the cloak so he wouldn't get detention. He was acting so weird that I said no. Then he takes out his wand and he _gives _it to me, Ron. He handed over his wand and said, 'Trust me defenseless?'"

"Wha—but he…"

"Something's happening tomorrow night, and he might not survive it."

Ron was floored. After a few moments of trying to find words, he said, "Well, it's go to be You Know Who."

"Yes, but why does he think he won't live through it?"

"Dunno. All he has to do is grovel and pledge his undying allegiance and all that rot."

"We both know he's perfectly capable of that. This sort of thing should be a breeze for him. Why does he think he's going to be killed?"

"Maybe…no, that's impossible."

"Maybe what?" Harry prodded. He knew what conclusion Ron was coming to, because he had reached it himself in the corridor on the way back.

"Maybe he _isn't_ planning on serving You Know Who," Ron said, looking dazed. "No. That's…there's no way…"

"I don't know, Ron."

They sat in silence for a while. He suspected Ron was still in shock.

"What do we do, Harry?" he asked quietly, many moments later.

Harry sighed, suddenly feeling very exhausted. "I guess all we can do is wait and see."

* * *

"Wake up now, Moony." A prod accompanied the far-off voice, and Lupin could not restrain a wince.

"You always did have a talent for poking me in the exact wrong place," he said hoarsely.

"I'd think that anywhere was a wrong place, this time."

"Probably right." He opened his eyes and let them drink in the sight of Sirius, who was perched on the edge of his bed. His sharp features blurred as tears filled Lupin's eyes. "I was afraid that I had killed you."

Sirius smiled ruefully and brushed a hand over Remus's dark blond hair, already peppered with grey. "I apparated to the edge of Hogsmeade and ran the rest of the way as Padfoot."

Remus let his eyes slip shut once more, as if he was embarrassed by his emotion. "Are…are you a lycanthrope now?" His voice was small and ashamed.

"No. You didn't bite."

"Thank God. Oh, thank God, I wouldn't have been able to live with myself knowing that…that I…" the tears pooled in his eyes, and he blinked, trying to control them.

"It wouldn't have been your fault even if you had bitten me, Remus," Sirius said firmly. "Someone tampered with your potion. And besides, I've lived through worse things, I think. Compared to twelve years in Azkaban, lycanthropy seems like a breeze."

Lupin shook his head. "Don't say things like that, Sirius. Don't even think it."

Sirius let his hand drop down to Lupin's shoulder. He rested it there, hoping it was comforting in some small way. Remus was not one to tell people when something they did made him uncomfortable; he had always been the sort of person that endured it, and would never mention it unless the person in question made him very, very angry. James had told him time and time again that people couldn't know they were bothering him unless he told them. Remus had always insisted that if he spoke up, he would never shut up. They had not understood that until they came to know what he was. Sighing, Sirius thought of the look he'd stolen at Pomfrey's records. If he had been in Remus's place, he would be half-mad with shame and fury.

"Is this ok, Remus?" Sirius asked, shaking the werewolf's shoulder gently. Remus nodded, his eyes glassy and intense.

"So…w-what damage did I do?" he asked, unable to disguise a sniffle. "I remember blood. It didn't smell like mine…"

"You clawed me pretty good," Sirius admitted, tugging at the neck of his light cotton robe. Remus gasped at the scars.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, looking horrified. Absently he ran his fingers over the raised tangle of scarring. "These were deep." Sirius shrugged. They had been deep, so deep that he'd nearly died from blood loss, but Remus didn't need to know that. "Can't they do anything for the scarring?" Remus murmured.

"Haven't really thought about it."

Nodding, Remus withdrew his hand. "Anything else?"

"Well, I was trying to get away from you after you had clawed me, and you lunged at me…we went over the couch. Or at least most of us did. My leg was trapped against the back."

"You ran on a broken leg?" Remus said, aghast.

"The bones didn't break, but it destroyed my knee. It's just about healed now." He pulled up the hem of the robe. His knee had more or less returned to normal size, and the transparency charm was slowly wearing off. As they looked, one of the Curatio spiders crept tentatively to the edge of the incision before poking its tiny head out.

"Ah. I know them," Remus smiled slightly. "Or at least I knew their ancestors."

"Pomfrey used them on you?"

"Sirius, with all the bone and muscle rearrangement that goes on with my transformation, I'd probably have severe arthritis without them. How many werewolves have you ever seen that are over the age of fifty?"

Frowning, Sirius said, "None."

"Exactly. Eventually it paralyzes you, if you aren't treated. And if you can't get out of bed to feed yourself…"

"That's horrible."

"I know."

They sat in silence for a minute. Sirius sighed. He had always felt that Remus was the last person in the world that should have been cursed with lycanthropy. This was only bringing that conviction into sharper focus. It was just one of many injustices that inhabited his world.

"_Mister_ Black, _what_ did I say about—" Madam Pomfrey rounded the corner and lost the rest of her admonishment. "Oh! Remus, you're awake."

"Yes. I actually woke up earlier, but the curtains were open and the light hurt, so I went back to sleep."

"Ah. I must be getting senile in my old age," the mediwitch said, leaning over and pressing the inside of her wrist to Lupin's forehead. "Or perhaps it's just the stress of so many of you silly children getting hurt all the time!"

Both men knew better than to point out that they were in their thirties.

* * *

The day dawned appropriately, Draco thought. It was cool and blustery outside, with low, roiling clouds scudding across the sky. There was not a hint of sunlight. It would be a good day for quidditch practice. Unfortunately, no one had scheduled it yet. Maybe if he could get over the queasiness that sat low in his stomach, he'd go out for a fly. On second thought, he'd definitely go for a fly, nausea or not. It might be the last time he could ever feel that exhilarating, liberating sensation that was soaring along on a good broom.

Once again, he was awake before everyone else. He could feel a slight fatigue in his body; he'd only gotten four hours of sleep after the run-in with Potter. It couldn't be helped. He knew that no matter how hard he tried, he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep on this day. Sighing, he lifted himself from his seat in the window frame. He had one more person that he wanted to see before he could sort everything out.

The corridors were blessedly empty. He had a scrap of parchment stuffed in his pocket just in case; if Filch should happen upon him, he could say that he was on his way to the owlrey to send a letter. There was no crime in being up early. Specifically, there were no rules stopping students fifth year and above from roaming the school after five in the morning. He suspected it was more a provision for studying for O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s than anything else, but he had no problem using it to his advantage.

Madam Pomfrey was already up, sitting behind her desk in the corner of the infirmary. She was jotting notes on something with her glasses at the end of her nose; she didn't even notice him until he was right across from her.

"Oh!" she started, dropping her quill. For a moment she looked irritated, but then it morphed into concern. "Mr. Malfoy. Is everything all right? Are you still feeling the effects of the Polyjuice?"

"No. I feel fine, thanks to you."

"Oh. Well, you know, it's my job," she said, looking flustered. She'd only seen Draco Malfoy in the infirmary twice before this week; once when Hermione Granger punched him in the face and broke his nose (that had been kept quiet, naturally), and the time when the hippogriff slashed his arm. Both times he'd been a dramatic, whiny brat, in her opinion. This last time, however, it had been as if she was treating a different person altogether. It still seemed that way, for he had never thanked her before. Most students did thank her, even the Slytherins, but not Draco Malfoy.

"What do you need, then?" she said, already softening toward him. "It's quite early for you to be about."

"Actually, I just wanted to talk to Professor Lupin."

If she had managed to conceal her shock before, she could not do so now. For a moment she wondered how he even knew Lupin was there, but then she remembered the altercation that had turned her wing into a madhouse. It was unheard of, though; a Slytherin student wanting to conference with a blatantly Gryffindor professor was as rare as the animagus gene. Even the most promising transfigurers in Slytherin hesitated to pursue it, most often because it meant spending extended periods of time with Minerva McGonagall. It was stupid, really, but she had learned long ago not to question how things worked at Hogwarts. It only served to annoy her.

"Well…" she said slowly, blinking at the young man in front of her, "it's too early right now. Professor Lupin is still asleep, and he needs his rest. You may come back later, perhaps during lunch—"

"It's all right, Poppy," Lupin's voice interrupted. "I'm awake."

"Oh, you stubborn creature!" she fumed for a moment. "Remus Lupin, you should be asleep!"

"I should be a lot of things," he replied from behind his screen. "Now send him back before I hobble out there in my embarrassingly short and revealing robe."

Draco had to hide a small smile behind his hand. He had always liked Professor Lupin. He hadn't always agreed with his affiliations or his background, but he was good at what he taught. After the terribly vexing stutter of Quirrel, the vacuous presence of Gilderoy Lockhart, and the disconcerting insanity of Mad-Eye Moody, Lupin seemed like a saint. Besides, he couldn't help being a werewolf. Draco doubted it was a life that anyone would ever willingly choose. In some small way, he admired Lupin for gritting his teeth and working through it.

"Fine," the mediwitch said shortly. "Have your talk. You have a half hour, and then I am coming over there and giving you a sleeping potion." She pointed Draco to the right cubicle, and then returned to her work, murmuring angrily to herself about patients that never listened to her.

"Sit, Mr. Malfoy," Lupin said, gesturing to the chair at his bedside. "I am a bit too weak to sit up, I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not." Draco settled himself into the chair. He felt mildly out of sorts; he had never sought out Lupin like this before. Yet the werewolf was handling it with casual aplomb, as if this happened every day.

"So what brings you here?" Lupin asked. "And by the by, you don't have to call me professor anymore, since I no longer hold the position. You can just call me Remus, if you like."

"That's…that's all right. I think I prefer Professor."

Lupin nodded. Looking thoughtful, he said, "This is unusual. I have never heard you or any of your housemates say one good thing about me, and here you are, asking to talk with me."

"Most of the Slytherins liked you. At least you knew what you were doing," Draco said, fidgeting. "We can look past things, sometimes."

To his surprise, Lupin shook his head gravely. "You'd do better to look past things most of the time. The house system here does more damage than good. Emphasizing differences has never led to anything useful or productive. It's just a way to instill eugenics at the ripe age of eleven."

Draco blinked, confused. He would never expect a Gryffindor to condemn the house system. But then, Lupin was different from any other Gryffindor that had ever walked the halls of Hogwarts. Draco decided against asking what eugenics was. He did not need to look dumb in front of his former Professor right now. He would just look it up before breakfast.

"Um…well…I just had a few things I wanted to say," he stated awkwardly.

Lupin nodded stoically. "Go on."

Taking a deep breath, Draco stepped over the edge. "I know you probably don't want to think about it, but I was there."

"Where?" Lupin asked, confusion plain on his face.

"At the Revel."

Lupin's mouth opened and then slowly closed, and his shoulders seemed to sag. A moment later, however, his expression grew cold and hard.

"I don't remember everything that went on. But if you did something to me, Draco, I am _not_ accepting apologies."

"No," Draco said, shaking his head frantically. "No, I didn't do anything. I was there, but I had been forced to take a Polyjuice potion that turned me into my father."

The ice in Lupin's face melted into confusion once again.

"Why? And who forced you?"

"It was my mother. My father was ill and couldn't respond to the summons."

Lupin looked horrified. "Is this a regular practice?"

"No, this was the first time."

"So you were there, in your father's body." He could not seem to get over his disgust at Narcissa Malfoy's actions. To force your child to witness an event like that was bad enough, but to put him in his father's body – especially that of Lucius Malfoy, who had a reputation chock full of ruthlessness and sadism – and expect him to play along was appalling. Forget appalling, it was abuse.

"Yes. I…as soon as I realized it was you, I felt sick."

"Would you have felt sick if it was someone else? Someone you didn't know?"

Draco swallowed nervously. "Probably. It's not like I didn't know. But…it's so different to know of something abstractly than to actually experience it. I saw the blood, read the reports…I knew it was violent. I just never…"

"I understand," Lupin said softly. "It's like lycanthropy. Most people would agree that it's a terrible thing, but they can never truly know unless they experience it. It's a thousand times worse than any nightmare."

Draco nodded, taking a shaky breath. "I knew someday I'd have to be part of it, but it never amounted to anything more than that in my mind."

"You took it for granted."

"Yes. I had no concept of anything other than ideals."

"I was like that after I was bitten. I knew that in a month I would turn into some horrible raving creature, and it didn't seem like that big of a deal until the time actually came. We ignore things to preserve our sanity, I think."

"How old were you?" Draco could not resist asking. He looked down at his fingernails. He still felt intensely uncomfortable, but he needed to do this.

"Seven."

He closed his eyes. If Lupin had been in the same year as his father at school, that would make him thirty-six, thirty-seven if his birthday had already passed. He had been a werewolf for nearly thirty years.

"I believed," Draco said quietly. "I believed it all."

"Past tense?" There was a note of hope in Lupin's voice; he did not bother to disguise it.

"I feel that some of it is still valid. But when I was there…I couldn't see the superiority. The way they behaved…they were like savages. Lustful, uncultured, brainless savages – exactly what they say about the squibs and Muggle-borns. And you…" Draco twined his fingers together, because his hands had begun to shake, "you had more dignity than all of them, no matter what they were doing to you."

Remus Lupin stared at the enigmatic boy in front of him. A painful lump lodged in his throat. Malfoy's earnestness had opened a vault of memories he had hoped to leave alone for a few more days, but somehow it seemed less agonizing, if only a little.

"There is one," he said hoarsely. "One who is everything you seem to value. He is intelligent and honorable and refined." Lupin cleared his throat, but the lump remained. "Though his social skills leave something to be desired."

"Who?" Draco asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

"Your head of house."

"I thought you hated him."

"No. I dislike some of the things he does, and I'm sure he hates me, but I don't hate him."

"But…but Professor Snape is seldom in the Dark Lord's good graces. At least that's what I've overheard…"

"That should tell you something about Voldemort's nature. He caters to the fools, the ones in it for the power and the bigotry and the bloodlust. He doesn't have much to offer the enlightened ones." Remus paused, sighing deeply. "I make no attempt to hide my feelings, Draco. I despise the Dark Lord. He is a hypocrite and a fool, if an effective one. His actions are analogous to me starting an anti-werewolf movement that kills everyone who ever helped a wolf, or knew a wolf, or was related to a wolf, as well as the wolves themselves. No one is safe except the worst of the bigots, and even then, if one were to displease me…"

Draco shuddered, thinking how accurate the words seemed. He had let his mind dwell on similar things a few times before, but always he had chastised himself and banished the mutinous thoughts. The Dark Lord – Voldemort – was to be his master some day.

"My mother is dead and my father is missing," he blurted a moment later, unable to restrain it any longer.

"My God! Draco!" Lupin exclaimed, sitting up in spite of his feebleness. "What happened?"

"The Dark Lord happened." Draco bit his lip hard. He wanted to run from the infirmary. This was betrayal. This was perversion of everything he was.

Suddenly all the pieces slid into place in Remus's head. His amber eyes widened.

"Draco, are you in danger?"

The boy shrugged numbly. "Professor Snape says he'll watch out for me."

"If there is one person you can feel safe with in that group, it's him."

"But he's one of them. I can't…I don't know what I want to do! I don't want to be manipulated." He felt sick with shame.

"Draco, do you want to know why I seemed…_dignified_…while they were torturing me?"

The young man physically recoiled from the question, curling in on himself in the chair. "No. I don't want to think about it."

"I'm going to tell you anyway. Professor Snape gave me tranquilizers and painkillers. I was drugged out of my mind. I didn't feel most of it after a certain point. I knew what was happening, but there was very little pain."

Draco's mouth fell open in shock.

"He…he did that for you? Right in front of the Dark Lord? Even though he dislikes you?"

"Yes on all three counts."

"I…he…what side is he on?" Draco growled, his face contorting with confusion and frustration.

"His own, Draco. His own."

Draco stared at his hands for a long time. He heard the rustle of Lupin lying back down. Many, many things that should not have been disclosed had come up in this short conversation. He had not expected it to get so intense. He had only intended to apologize, perhaps get some perspective on the whole experience. Finally, he found his voice.

"You_ trust_ me," he said incredulously, even accusingly.

Lupin smiled humorlessly. "I'm a werewolf, Mr. Malfoy. I can smell a lie, and there's only truth on you."


	20. The Appointment

Draco floated through the day like a bubble caught in the summer breeze. Snape had excused him from all his classes, but he went to most of them anyway. It was rather pointless, since he couldn't even pretend to pay attention, but he felt that he needed to maintain some sense of normalcy. Besides, it was easier to think in the warm background noise of his classes than the cavernous quiet of the dungeons.

The only class he skipped was his last of the day, Transfiguration. Even if Dumbledore or Snape had talked to her, he doubted Professor McGonagall would allow him to sit in her class completely preoccupied. That was simply not her nature. Besides, he wanted to get that fly in, and it would do him no good to show up after classes, when there was the possibility that one of the house teams had booked the pitch.

And so he was walking out across the grounds, headed for the quidditch field with his broom over his shoulder. The day had gotten warmer, but the clouds still ruled the sky, stubbornly shutting out most of the sun. Still the perfect day for quidditch, he thought as he tossed his books onto the stands. Taking a breath, he mounted his broom and kicked off, hoping his nerves would not make his stomach too sensitive.

The air felt glorious on his skin. It was not too warm and not too cold, and it pushed through his hair, whipping the pale strands around his face. He had learned to fly at a young age, mostly because it was something his father enjoyed. He remembered a time when he was six or seven that his father had taken him out on his broom. It had been a blustery November day…

"_Father, why must I wear so many clothes?" he whined petulantly. He was sweating under the layers of robes and cloaks already. Otherwise it would have been quite enjoyable; the air was crisp and clean, smelling faintly of pine and earth, and the sun brilliant in the sky._

"_You'll freeze if you don't."_

"_You're not wearing as much."_

"_I'm not six years old. Now stop whining unless you want to go back inside." His father tied his hair back with a strip of leather, and then slipped his gloves on. Draco shook his head urgently and bit his lips. He wanted more than anything to be out here with his father, whom he had barely even seen for the whole week._

"_You'll thank me once we're up there," Lucius murmured._

"_Hurry up, Father," he implored. He loved the sensation of flying, but as he was too young to do it himself, the only time he could feel it was rare incidents like these. _

"_Yes, yes," his father responded. He seemed a bit distracted, but Draco didn't care. Better a distracted father than an absent one._

_Lucius beckoned the broom to rise. It obeyed without hesitation, and Draco spared a moment to look it over. It was not the kind of broom he would expect his father to own; it was old, worn, perhaps even obsolete. Sure, his father had newer brooms, top of the line brooms, but he seldom used them._

"_Up you go," he said, helping the little boy up onto the back of the broom._

"_How come you use this old broom, father?" he dared to ask._

_Lucius actually looked surprised for a moment. It seemed that the question caught him off guard. "Well…this was my first broom. I got it when I was eleven and began playing quidditch." He touched the handle in an oddly sentimental way. "No broom I've gotten since feels as right as this one." He shrugged, dismissing the conversation, and climbed onto the broom. _

"_Hold on," he said, barely giving Draco enough time to clutch his robes before he kicked off and sent them spiraling in a dizzy arc into the sky. The way his father could fly never ceased to amaze Draco; if he could fly that way, he would want to do it every day. They tucked, rolled, spiraled, and soared. And Draco was laughing; laughing in that delirious, unstoppable way children did. _

Draco glided slowly about the quidditch pitch, letting memories flash through his head. Was his father worth all this? He angled down into a dive. The air pushed his hair straight up and made his eyes water.

The one fatherly thing Lucius Malfoy had done was teach his son to fly. Draco was not as good at it as him, but he had become better than most. He knew his father was proud, though he never expressed it beyond a nod and a glint in his eye. Draco understood now; he understood that his grandfather had not exactly given Lucius the blueprint for being a good father and he would rather do nothing than do the wrong thing.

Draco pulled out of his dive a few feet above the ground. The smell of wet grass assaulted him and he gunned the broom, flying straight up at a breakneck pace. He was worth it. His aloof, mercurial, mysterious father was worth it.

* * *

Draco Malfoy looked ready to do battle when he arrived at the door of Snape's personal quarters. His face was inscrutable, his eyes calculating. His stance gave off an air of humble confidence. He was in his best pair of casual robes, beautiful dark green embroidered silk that whispered against his legs as he moved. They had probably cost as much as ten mediocre robes.

"Too ostentatious?" he asked tersely before Severus could speak.

"Not for tonight," Snape said, ushering him in and closing the door behind them. "Tonight it will be good to remind him of your status. But in the future, simple black will do."

Draco nodded. Snape drew a small vial out of his pocket and held it out to him

"No thank you."

"What?"

"I don't need it."

"Are you quite sure, Mr. Malfoy?" Snape's voice had an edge of warning in it.

"I am."

Severus sighed through his teeth.

"Draco, as much as you think you are ready for this, I know that you are not. It is my experience that once you lose your composure you lose your ability to think clearly and make useful decisions – a not uncommon character flaw of most people your age. Needless to say, an audience with the Dark Lord is not the best place for this to happen."

"It won't."

"How can you be sure?"

"I'm sure, Professor."

"Mr. Malfoy. I do not want to force you to do anything, but there may be unexpected events taking place at this gathering. You must be as prepared as possible."

"What do you mean?" For a moment the young man's mask slipped. "What sort of unexpected events?"

"I will leave it at this: my goal for this meeting is to ensure that you make it out alive and unmarked."

"Unmarked?"

"You certainly cannot be traipsing about Hogwarts or playing quidditch with some great skull and snake on your arm, unless you want to start dressing like me."

In spite of himself, Draco grimaced. But the expression melted away a moment later, as his mind processed the conversation. "For me to make it out alive…Is there a reason that you wouldn't?"

"One never knows, Draco. Every person who attends a meeting stands a chance of being killed, for whatever reason. The Dark Lord is capricious at times."

Draco's breath came faster. If Professor Snape was killed, he would be completely alone. No one would be his ally. No one would watch out for him. He looked up at the pale man before him, shrouded in black, every inch of him looking like some macabre specter. This man was his only chance.

"I…I'll take it if things get bad." He held his hand out for the potion.

"You can't just gulp it down in front of the Dark Lord. It's now or never, Draco."

"But you gave Professor Lupin a potion in the middle of the Revel. I don't know how, I didn't even see it, but you did."

Snape didn't miss a beat. "You did see it. You just didn't realize it, and that was how it was meant to be."

"How, then?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "I do not like to repeat this. Do you recall that I…kissed him?"

Draco blinked. Vaguely he remembered; it was just one strange thing of many from that night that he had tried to forget.

"It was in your mouth, then?"

Snape nodded. Slowly, he placed the vial in Draco's hand.

"You don't make sense," he said quietly, his hand tightening around the glass. "You hate Professor Lupin openly, and yet…when he's in danger you help him. You kiss your enemy when your master commands that you destroy him."

"Lupin didn't know the difference until afterwards. He thought I was just humiliating him." Severus shrugged, as if none of what Draco had just said really mattered. He drew another vial from his pocket and rolled it between his fingers. "Shall we, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco uncapped the potion. "It won't make me slow, will it?"

"No. Just very, very relaxed and aware."

Smiling sadly, Draco raised the vial. "Cheers."

* * *

The night was cool but humid, and Snape vowed to himself that if he made it out of this meeting alive, he'd invent a potion to control perspiration. Draco was very calm, but Severus had long ago developed a tolerance for the draught. Now it was a bit like a shot of firewhiskey; it loosened him up ever so slightly, but not much more. It was good that he had someone else to focus on, though. If he kept his mind on getting Draco through this, then he would not have to think of his own lot.

It seemed that they were the last to arrive. Severus thought it was probably done on purpose. The Dark Lord liked to have the entirety of his forces amassed when a new recruit came. It was both encouraging and intimidating. He felt the boy slow down as they neared the circle and nudged him forward. Even the tiniest thing could betray fear, and Severus knew by now how to cover those tiny things.

The circle parted as they neared. They stepped forward together, Severus masked and wreathed in black, Draco splendid in his silken green robe. In the center was the Dark Lord, and at his feet was Lucius Malfoy. Lucius was in quite a state, bare save for his trousers and bruises, nicks, and burns covering every inch of his exposed skin. And yet, somehow he was still haughty. On his knees and beaten half to death, Lucius Malfoy was still an impressive man.

Snape did not dare to glance at Draco to gauge the boy's reaction. To take his eyes off the Dark Lord now would equal a bout of Cruciatus or something worse. He did spare a moment to look at Lucius, but Lucius was staring at his son. His eyes were not as cloaked as usual; the blue irises burned with some emotion Severus would never know.

"Ah, Severus," The Dark Lord intoned, his voice piercing and poisonous. "Do you have the Veritaserum I requested?"

Severus bowed low, his nose brushing the grass, and answered, "Yes, my Lord. I cater to your every whim."

Voldemort snorted, a thoroughly unattractive sound. "When it is convenient for you, my shady little Potions Master. The vial, please."

Snape fished it out of the sleeve of his robe and handed it over without raising his head. The Dark Lord's hand was cold and clammy, a combination Severus detested.

"Rise, Severus, and make your introductions."

He stood, willing his breath and voice to stay even. At last he got a look at Draco; the boy was as blank as a freshly painted wall and seemed to be oozing the token Malfoy arrogance. He was in the bank. Severus had explained it to him many times before their leaving that this meeting was a transaction and nothing more; if one acted properly, one got what he or she wanted. So far, Draco was cooperating splendidly.

"Lord Voldemort…my fellow Death Eaters…I bring you Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy estate and the only son of this fine bloodline."

"You speak high praise for a traitor's line," Voldemort hissed. The masked men and women around him shifted and whispered among themselves, doubtless agreeing with their Lord.

"You know Lucius as well as I, my Lord," Severus said, bowing his head and averting his eyes. "He does not do things without reason. And you once told me that the sins of the father do not lessen the son."

"Ah, how well you manipulate my very words!" Voldemort said. Fortunately, he seemed more amused than anything else. "Young Mr. Malfoy, Severus speaks highly of you. Are you worthy of this praise?"

"I believe so, my Lord," he answered, inclining his head. "I am honored to be in audience with you."

"But you have been in audience with me before," Voldemort said slyly.

Draco did not miss a beat. "Yes, my Lord. My late Mother impelled me to drink a Polyjuice potion to stand in for my father."

"I do not recall seeing much of you that night, Draco. Did the events…trouble you?"

"No, my Lord," he shook his head matter-of-factly.

"Then why didn't you join in? I know you dislike the werewolf. You could have given him what he deserved without even showing your true face." Voldemort's voice was soft, cloying, leading Draco on like a very skilled lawyer.

"I wished to, my Lord, but I know little of my father's body or his preferences. Anything I did may have brought about an uncomfortable line of questioning."

Voldemort chuckled. "You are a clever boy. But tell me, why have you come?"

Severus tensed. The answer to that question was never the obvious one. He hoped Draco was not foolish enough to tell Voldemort he came because the invitation told him to.

"I have come to hear my father's reason for betraying you, my Lord."

Oh thank heavens. Where was this composure on the Quidditch field, when he was seeking against Potter?

Voldemort smiled, or at least Severus thought it was some hideous approximation of a smile. "That makes two of us, then, young Mr. Malfoy." He pointed his wand at Lucius and murmured, "Petrificus totalis."

Lucius straightened up involuntarily as his muscles and bones locked in place. He was frozen, his eyes staring out unflinchingly. Soon they would start to tear; it was an involuntary reaction from being unable to blink, but it made situations such as this even more disturbing than they already were.

Voldemort handed the vial of Veritaserum back to Snape. "Administer this, and do not skimp on the dosage; I would like to be _perfectly sure_ that it is working." Severus heard the edge in his voice and knew he was referring to the incident with his sister. However, Severus could hardly be blamed for it; he hadn't brewed that particular batch of Veritaserum and had no idea where they had acquired it. It probably irked Voldemort to no end; the one time he avoided his 'shady little potions master' had been the one time a potion didn't work.

Severus stepped forward without hesitation. He knew the Veritaserum would work unless Lucius's brain was so scrambled that it had no effect. But the chances of that were slim; he could see in the man's pale blue eyes that he recognized him and that he was harboring a small hint of remorse. And why not? What he might say was potentially damning for Severus.

Emotionlessly, he poured about half the small bottle down Lucius's throat. It was about 5 times what was needed to be effective, but he had to show Voldemort that he was using all due force to extract the truth. Lucius coughed and a bit of it dripped down his chin, but he could not control his muscles enough to spit it out. It went down in spite of his best efforts.

Severus bit the inside of his cheek and retreated. Lucius knew things, and it was a miracle that many of them hadn't come out yet. Tonight was the night, he supposed. The night when all would be laid bare and secrets would rear their ugly heads once again.

* * *

Sirius peeked tentatively around the edge of his curtain. His knee was completely healed now; Madam Pomfrey had removed the Curatio spiders a few hours before. It felt better, but somehow different. The strength and surety of his original knee were gone forever, but he knew that the new tendons and ligaments would not fail him.

Madam Pomfrey was asleep at her desk, her spectacles pushed up against her forehead. The last few days had been exhausting for her. At times he felt bad for her. She gave every ounce of herself to save and fix those who walked the halls of Hogwarts. And all too often, ungrateful fools like himself checked themselves out prematurely without a word of thanks.

It had to be done. There were questions, so many questions, and only one person could give him answers. Sirius had never been one to wait for the truth to come to him. That gave the facts too much time to become corrupted. He had to strike without warning, catch her off guard…only then could he finally understand.

Taking a deep breath, he focused his energy like he had a thousand times before. Suddenly he was more alert; smells, sounds, and sights were sharper. He was keenly aware of the scars along his shoulder; he hoped they would not hinder his running.

Quietly the black dog padded out of the infirmary and into the dark corridors. He had snuck around the school undetected once before, and it appeared that little had changed. It was still insanely easy to slink around without being noticed. It gave him a queasy feeling in his stomach; Sirius knew it was very unlikely that he was the darkest creature that was roaming these halls. He made a mental note to talk to Dumbledore about it and then slipped deftly into one of the secret passages.

A sliver of moon cast a dim light on the grounds; dew was wet beneath his paws. The air was heavy but cool. Trees rustled in an irregular wind. Lifting his snout skyward, he inhaled deeply - wet earth and the sharp smell of pine. Tonight was a good night for confessions.

* * *

For ten solid minutes, they waited. Severus knew Veritaserum took effect instantly, especially with as high a dosage as Lucius had been given. Many of the others were ignorant of this and believed that it needed time to penetrate his system before the interrogation could begin. Voldemort knew better, Severus was sure of it, but after the useless encounter with Selena, he supposed that the dark wizard wouldn't take any chances.

He didn't care if they waited. They could wait until the sun rose. This lull gave him time to plan, and more importantly, it gave Lucius time to plan. He knew many secrets about many people; with intense focus and the right questions, he might be able to make it out of this.

However, Severus had to assume that Lucius would be unable to conceal the fact that he was a double agent. He had to plan for the worst. Shaking his arm ever so slightly, he jarred a small vial loose from the pocket inside his robe. With the sleeves as voluminous as they were, the movement went completely unnoticed.

It was one of the oldest tricks in the book, but it still worked. If the secret came out, he would throw the vial against the ground and it would explode in a burst of thick, black smoke. Dressed in black as they all were, and under cover of darkness, it would be impossible to see him. That would give him just enough time to apparate. He needn't worry about Draco; the secret wouldn't implicate him in any way and Snape was confident (given the boy's performance so far) that he could act well enough to display his utter disgust with his Head of House.

It would all have to be done very quickly. There was the chance that it wouldn't work, but he knew that the quickest of his Death Eater compatriots was the one on the chopping board. That, at least, was a blessing.

"Enough," Voldemort hissed.

The ranks drew in around him, forming an intimidating circle around Lucius and his captors. Everyone strained to hear, though nothing was being said yet.

"I will get right to the point," Voldemort said, his voice deceptively soft. "Why were you hiding Igor Karkaroff, a known deserter and traitor to our cause?"

Severus held his breath. This was good…it was a non-specific question. Lucius could work around it, or at least be as vague as possible without lying.

Lucius's throat worked. Sweat beaded on his forehead. At last he said, "He knew things."

"What sort of things?"

Good…another vague question. Lucius could dance around this, too.

"Information," he ground out.

"What information, Lucius, did you believe to be so important as to be kept from your Master?"

Oh dear. This was going to be bad. Lucius was trying, really he was; heat was radiating off him from the effort of saying only just enough. Lucius took three deep breaths, looking as though he was in pain.

"Information…that I hoped to use…for the better of our cause…and to advance my own standing."

"Then why did you keep it secret, if your intentions were so beneficial?"

"Timing," he answered, almost immediately this time. "The timing had to be perfect. I needed to know…as much as possible before…disposing of Karkaroff."

"So you did intend to kill him?"

"Yes." Again, he answered without hesitation. "Unless it was my Lord's wish to do so himself."

The Dark Lord nodded and walked in a slow circle around Lucius. "So when did you plan on revealing Karkaroff?"

"At the Revel."

"And why were you absent from the Revel?"

"I was…incapacitated," Lucius said. Sweat dripped in slow rivulets down his face and chest. Severus could see the exhaustion beginning; it was incredibly, incredibly difficult to resist or alter the gut-spilling effects of Veritaserum.

"In what way?"

"You'll recall…the recent charges brought against Selena Snape?"

Voldemort nodded.

"And my former…relationship with her?"

Again, the Dark Lord nodded. There was some whispering among the group. Many had forgotten about the almost-marriage between Lucius and Snape's sister. Many had forgotten about Selena, period.

"I forgot her strength," Lucius rasped. "She did something to my mind. I couldn't function. I was comatose."

"And your wife? Did she know about your…guest?"

Lucius shook his head emphatically. "No."

"Hm." Voldemort sighed. "Pity."

Lucius's eyes narrowed. His love for Narcissa had cooled long ago, but it was not completely gone. She was his wife and the mother of his child, or at least she had been, and that would never cease to mean something to him. Voldemort's actions had been rash and needlessly violent; in killing her, he had destroyed one of his most beautiful and devoted subjects and severely shaken the faith of another.

The Dark Lord liked to send messages, and most of the time they were of a perfectly calculated nature. This time, though, he had made a mistake. He had revealed his true nature; that of an undiscriminating, violent despot. Many of the Death Eaters were too stupid to understand what that meant, but Lucius was not. Though their campaign was aimed at mudbloods, no one was truly safe.

"What?" Voldemort asked, a crooked smile spreading across his pale face. "Nothing to say, Lucius?"

Severus bit his lips. He was baiting his victim. He knew there were many things Lucius was barely controlling. Thus far, Lucius had been masterfully crafting his responses. No one could do that the way a Slytherin could, but he was also dealing with a Slytherin asking the questions. Eventually Voldemort would be able to phrase a question in a way that trapped him into speaking the undiluted, unaltered truth.

"I expected more from you," the Dark Lord said. "You are free to say whatever you wish. I can hardly punish you for it, since I have compelled you to speak the truth."

"Here is your truth," Lucius replied. "You are a fool." With that, he bit his lips hard and looked at the grass. Everyone could tell that he wanted to say a lot more, but he had answered the question so the Veritaserum could not force him to say it. It certainly made him want to, but such was his control that he could clamp down on the tirade.

"A fool?" Voldemort laughed. "I have been called that before. It is a rather tame label for the man who murdered your wife."

Again, the bait. "You are hardly a man," Lucius murmured with his eyes closed.

"You're right." Voldemort's bony hand dug into Lucius's tangled hair and pulled. "I am a _god_," he enunciated into his servant's pale face. He discarded Lucius forcefully, tossing him onto the ground. Lucius did not try to get up. Severus didn't blame him; resisting the potion was so exhausting that dignity ceased to matter.

"Enough of this cat and mouse," Voldemort said, adjusting his robes. "It is entertaining, but pointless."

A spike of adrenaline shot through Snape. His fate would be decided soon. He spared a moment to glance at Draco; the boy wore a haughty but unreadable look on his face. Good, he was keeping his composure. He could only hope it would stay that way no matter what happened.

* * *

Sirius cursed under his breath. He knew Remus still had it, even though he swore he'd destroyed it like they'd decided. But where? Remus's home was so sparse that it was hard to believe anything was hidden in it, but Sirius knew better.

He paced around the dark sitting room. It was still in complete disarray. Remus had really done a number on it during those first mad moments of his transformation. The carpet was torn and stuffing was spilling out of the gutted couch. Blood dotted the floor where Sirius had made his escape. The window was broken where Remus had slammed through it, heedless of the glass. Hearing the fragments crunch under his slippers, Sirius reflected that he was damn lucky he'd gotten away.

All that aside…if he were Remus, where would he have put it? He sighed. He knew that was a silly line of thought; he _wasn't_ Remus, and no matter how well he knew him, there were still things that were deeply secretive and incomprehensible about his best friend.

Sirius picked up one of the overturned armchairs and set it right. He sat in it and rubbed his temples. It would certainly put a damper in his plans if he could not find the locator map.

He, Remus, and James had created it together during the first war. It worked sort of like the Marauder's Map, but on a larger scale. One could input the name of any person, any person at all, and the map would find him or her if it was possible for them to be found. And given how thorough the three of them were, only the most impenetrable security could hide a person from the map.

It had been instrumental in holding Voldemort and his forces at bay in those first grueling months. Then they must have realized they were being tracked somehow, and further attempts to find them with the map had been unsuccessful. Even after that, it had proved useful in altering or increasing the security for safehouses like the one that James, Lilly, and Harry eventually had to go into. After all, if he, Remus, and James could invent such a thing, so could the other side.

Sirius shook his head. He had not thought about those times in so long. They had all agreed to destroy the locator map after the Death Eaters nearly killed James. That was when they had been transferred to the safe house at Godric's Hollow. And that was when Sirius, fearing that he would be unable to prevent himself from giving up their new location should he be captured, transferred his duty as Secret Keeper to Peter.

It had made so much sense at the time; everyone in the world knew that he was James's best friend. Logic followed that he would be their Secret Keeper. Voldemort was not stupid, and neither were some of his followers. Sirius knew he was on the top of their list. Peter was so nervous and timid, hardly the person one would choose to keep a secret. No one would suspect that he had been entrusted with the whereabouts of the Potters. Then again, no one had ever suspected much about Peter, and that had been their undoing.

He could scarcely remember feeling angrier in his life that he had on that day. Peter had set it up perfectly; he knew it would all fall on his head if he did not elicit a confession from the little backstabber. He went to Remus's old apartment to get the locator map, which, mercifully, had not been destroyed yet. That was the only way to find him in time.

Remus had not fought him, but his eyes were full of sadness, fear, and even hate. Peter had made one of his best friends dead and the other one hate him. It could not end like that.

He still didn't know if he had tracked Peter down with the intention of killing him or not. It had surprised the slippery little man, but Peter knew he had the upper hand all along. All he wanted was a confession, and Peter laughed in his face. When the crowd started to gather, Sirius was boiling with rage. He had no Veritaserum, and using the Imperius would land him straight in jail anyway – who would believe a confession coerced under the influence of the Imperius? All he could rely on was force and intimidation.

Peter had certainly used that to his advantage. The only spell Sirius cast was an Expelliarmus, but the screams of the crowd were so loud that no one heard it. Peter used an exploding charm to blow his clothing off, accidentally losing one of his fingers in the process. In the chaos, no one noticed the small, hobbling rat fleeing the scene. For all intents and purposes, it appeared that Sirius had blown him – and several bystanders - to bits.

What had followed was a whirlwind of condemnations. If ever a person could be vilified so completely, it had been him. Not a single soul had listened to him. Even his own lawyer had ignored his plea for testimony under the influence of Veritaserum. They would not even consent to his request that they perform a Priori Incantatem on his wand – then they would have seen that the spell he cast was harmless. All in all it had been a tremendous corruption of justice, but none of that mattered in the delirious aftermath of that night at Godric's Hollow.

He knew Remus had never destroyed the locator map. In fact, he had the feeling that Remus had probably checked it for him quite often during those twelve long years. What a shock it must have been the day he had escaped from Azkaban. The map could not track people in their animagus forms; that was why he and Peter never showed up. The Marauder's map was different; all registered animagi were recognized by it, in addition to the four Marauders themselves. Hogwarts was a small, well-defined area, so the map's power of recognition was stronger. Over such a large scale, however, it could not be done.

An idea made him rocket to his feet. In his old apartment, Remus had kept the map in the frame behind his Hogwarts diploma. Sirius vividly remembered smashing the glass to get at it on that fateful day. Was it possible that he still kept it there?

He went into the bedroom where the diploma hung. Staring at it for a moment, Sirius frowned. It couldn't be that easy, could it? He plucked the frame from the wall and set about removing the back.

It wasn't there. Of course it wasn't. After he had broken out of Azkaban, there was no way Remus would have left it in a place that Sirius knew. He had probably feared that Sirius would try to get it and use it to find Harry.

Back to the drawing board, then. Collapsing on Remus's bed, Sirius felt his mind racing. Maybe he had really destroyed it. Would Remus have gone that far? Sighing, Sirius realized he would have to resort to an old-fashioned ransacking of the house.

Two hours and a mammoth mess later, Sirius found it. He was crouching in the depths of Remus's closet and could barely see, but there was no mistaking what was piled all over the map. Howlers. There had to be at least fifty of them, if not more.

Why in Merlin's name had Remus kept them? They were probably the ones he had gotten before his resignation from Hogwarts. A normal person would have incinerated them. Chuckling, Sirius smiled to himself. It was not Remus's method of self-flagellation. No…they were a security measure. With the slightest nudge, the howlers would go off. After two years of no one to scream at, they would be eager to bellow their contents again.

Leave it to Remus to turn something so degrading into something useful. He was quite good at that, Sirius supposed. He reached for the map and then thought better of it. He got up, went to the loo, and fetched some cotton wool out of the cabinet. He ransacked the house a bit more and broke the front door knob to make it look like a burglary. Then he made his way back to the closet. Stuffing the cotton wool in his ears, he took a deep breath. He was about to wake the neighborhood – and that was saying a lot considering Remus's nearest neighbors were several kilometers down the road.

* * *

"Now, dear Lucius, since you were unable to reveal your information at our last meeting, you will share it with us tonight. What did you learn from Karkaroff?"

Lucius's face was in the grass, but they could hear the grimace in his voice. "A secret about one of our own."

Snape's hand tightened around the potion vial. The time was near.

"Who?"

Lucius did not try to resist the question. They both knew that if he appeared to _not_ want to answer, it would not be good.

"Severus Snape."

All eyes turned to him. Some looked gleeful – Bellatrix especially, she had never liked him and always suspected his loyalty – and others merely curious. The Dark Lord himself was unreadable. Today, at least, he was reserving his judgment until he knew all the facts.

"What is the secret?"

Severus did his best to keep a straight face. This was it.

"Severus Snape is a—"

_Double agent. Traitor. Turncoat. Liar. Fool who is loyal to Dumbledore. _

"Halfblood."

What? Had he just heard correctly?

Gasps went up around the circle. Some moved away from him, revolted. Lucius went on, letting the potion push him.

"His mother was a muggle. I intended to blackmail him, to force his hand. I was going to tell him that unless he killed the Potter boy or presented him to you, my Lord, I would reveal his shameful secret. If that did not work, I would have told all of you, and we, collectively, could have forced him to act in order to regain his honor and status among us and avoid punishment."

Severus could have kissed him. It was all true, all of it, of that he had no doubt. Oh, sweet, malicious, deceptive Lucius. He had known that particular secret for a long, long time. That was the beauty of it; he was not lying. He probably had planned to do exactly what he said at some point. Whether it was yesterday or ten years ago did not matter. He had beaten the Veritaserum – unless Voldemort decided to ask more questions.

Severus scowled at the hooded men and women around him. Many of them were wearing looks of disgust. Others looked completely shocked, Draco included; he could not tell if it was acting or genuine surprise. He supposed he did play a good pureblood, and being a Slytherin all his life made the truth of his bloodline all the more shocking.

"You don't belong here, mudblood," MacNair snarled, stepping forward with his wand raised. Snape knew that at this point MacNair would have taken any opportunity to harm him. Lucius could have said he was secretly a one-legged leprechaun and MacNair would be ready to kill him just the same.

"I think," Voldemort's voice cut through the tension with all the subtlety of a machete, "that you are all quick to forget that I, too, am a halfblood."

The circle went silent.

"A person like myself or Severus cannot help the follies of his parents," the Dark Lord said, walking slowly and menacingly around the ring of his followers. "He can only hope to distance himself from their foolish, wasteful lifestyles and try his best to blot the weak, muddied blood out of this world before his time is up."

Many of the Death Eaters lowered their heads, chastened. It was all too easy to forget their Lord's impurity, but none would ever lose sight of his passion to erase it.

"I would have you show Severus the same respect you show all your compatriots…and myself," Voldemort hissed, eyeing MacNair. MacNair backed off hastily, sheathing his wand and bowing low. Severus noticed with some small degree of satisfaction that the executioner was still limping. After another circle and some venomous, extremely intimidating glares, Voldemort returned to the prone figure in the center of the circle.

"Rise, Lucius," he ordered.

With great effort, Lucius pushed himself to his knees and met the Dark Lord's eyes.

"Congratulations," he said. "You have just saved your son's life and restored honor to the Malfoy name."

"Thank you, my most gracious Lord," Lucius responded, prostrating himself at Voldemort's feet.

"However," the Dark Lord nudged Lucius's head with his toe, "I fear that recent events have compromised you. Have they?"

Lucius couldn't say no. There was no dancing around this one. "Yes," he whispered.

"It pains me," Voldemort said. "You were one of my best."

Lucius said nothing. Snape's heart was pounding. The Dark Lord was going to kill Lucius. He didn't know if Draco could bear it; hell, at this point, he wasn't sure _he_ could.

Voldemort turned to the Death Eaters. "You are dismissed, except Snape and young Mr. Malfoy."

Slowly, grudgingly, the others apparated away. At last, the four of them were alone.

The Dark Lord approached Draco after a few moments and spoke quietly. "You understand the necessity of this, don't you, boy?"

Draco nodded. He looked faintly ill. Severus shuddered to think how he would be without the calming draught. He personally was in desperate need of about twelve shots of firewhiskey.

"I will not make an orphan of you," Voldemort said stiffly. "It is…unpleasant."

"You're…not going to kill him?" Draco asked hesitantly.

"Your father did serve me well, and it is my own actions that polluted his faith. In spite of that, I cannot let him leave this place knowing what he knows."

"So you are going to kill him."

"Put it this way, young Draco…he will never wake up again."

Draco looked at his father. Lucius was sitting in the grass staring up at the sky. His face said that he knew what was coming.

"It is my great hope that you will continue where he left off. You will not let me down, will you?"

Draco's jaw clenched. He did not want this to happen. But Snape had been right, damn him – his father's fate was decided long before this meeting. It was only his that was in question. His father had saved his life. He knew the man could wiggle his way out of practically any situation, but that had not been his focus this time. Lucius had wanted to save his son, and save him he did, at his own expense. Draco could not throw that away now.

"No, my Lord," he said, performing the obeisance Snape had painstakingly showed him. "It is a great honor to continue the Malfoy tradition and serve you."

"Good." The Dark Lord gave him a long, appraising look. "Say your goodbyes, if you desire."

* * *

Sirius stood outside the safe house catching his breath. It was getting towards dawn; he could tell by the slight lightening of the sky in the east. If only he could have found that stupid map sooner…but no matter, it was lucky that he had found it at all.

He slipped into the house much too easily. Pausing just inside the door, he listened for any movement. Nothing. Just the ticking of a clock somewhere. Quietly he made his way into the sitting room. And there she was.

Selena Snape was laying on the couch, her back to him and her knees curled up to her chest. He couldn't tell if she was asleep, but thought she would have to be if she didn't detect his presence. This was going to be interesting. She hated his guts, and he couldn't really blame her for it. He had made her brother's life miserable for years.

He took out his wand. He was going to get his answers one way or another. The stakes were becoming too high for everyone. The truth about seventh year had to come out, and it had to come out now.

Author's note: Hey all, I know this was a LONG time coming…my apologies. Life is way too interfering sometimes. :P


	21. Little Black Lies

Cassius was sitting in Snape's personal office watching the minutes tick by. They seemed to be passing too quickly – had it really been three hours since Severus and Draco left? - and too slowly; such was the cruelty of waiting. He sighed. The more time passed, the less likely he was to have a friend, a brother, or a nephew at dawn.

What if he killed all three of them? Would Voldemort do that? Cassius closed his eyes. Without a doubt, he would. Every second he spent in the wizarding world served to enlarge the horror of Voldemort. He understood now why some of them would not speak his name. Some things were simply too corrupt, too terrible, and too poisoned with an unnatural darkness to be brought up in casual conversation.

Was his brother like that now?

A spasm of grief that he had been holding back since his arrival threatened to breach his precarious control. He wanted to see his brother, wanted to talk to him and simply _exist_ with him in the same place at the same time. It did not matter that he was changed; it did not matter that time and circumstance had molded him into a clone of their father. Somewhere, somehow, there had to be _some_ small bit of the old Lucius in there. He refused to believe that there was nothing left. Maybe seeing his beloved little brother very much alive would do something, trigger some response in him…

But he could not reach Lucius, and after this night it was likely that he never would. He looked at the globe on the desk, watching the colors within swirl dizzily. Fate was cruel, he decided. Maybe Lucius deserved to die painfully for the things he'd done for Voldemort, but that was not the Lucius he knew. He knew the Lucius that smiled and laughed and stood up to the strife that tore their family apart. The Lucius that had been willing to risk everything to live the life he wanted instead of the one that was expected of him…

And there he was anyway – all of it had been for nothing.

Fuck this waiting. Fuck this quiet acceptance. He knew now, without a doubt, that something had happened to Lucius. That man out there, living and dying for Voldemort, was not his brother. Nothing…_nothing_…could have made Lucius take that mark after what the Dark Lord did to their family, and nothing could now stop Cassius from seeing him…even if it was for the last time.

* * *

Severus sat across from Lucius and observed him. His blue eyes were resigned. Oddly, the Dark Lord had given them some small degree of privacy; he was standing about twenty yards away, waiting patiently. Severus had never seen this behavior before and knew that it must really pain him to have to get rid of Lucius. And – was it possible? – perhaps he felt bad to be taking two parents away from Draco, for he had so hated being an orphan himself. It was a strange spasm of conscience for a creature that did not possess one.

"Thank you," Snape whispered. Lucius would know what he meant.

Lucius looked up. "We all have our reasons." His hands pulled nervously at the grass.

"You could have saved yourself."

"Never mind, Severus."

But Snape could not resist. "This isn't like you."

"I don't know what is like me, lately," was the quiet response.

Silence fell between them. Severus looked at him, the man that had been his friend and his enemy, his savior and his condemner…he looked tired. He had never seen Lucius look this weary, not once.

"I would like to talk to my son," Lucius said a moment later. Their brief but meaningful conversation was over.

* * *

He wanted to speak to Draco, but when the young man sat across from him he had no words. He contented himself to look at his offspring. His face was so young, but controlled…he did not know if it was some internal discipline that the situation had forced upon him, or whatever concoction Severus had doubtless juiced him up with, or some combination of both…but there was composure there. Something told him that it would not last much longer. He could not delay or the boy would lose it.

Lucius rubbed a hand across his forehead in an agitated motion. He did not know what to say. He had never been good at offering comfort. In this situation, was there even comfort to offer?

"I'll be ok, Father," Draco said softly, interrupting his thoughts.

Lucius smiled a bitter smile that looked more like a grimace. "I know you will."

The silence was heavy between them. Then Draco leaned closer and whispered, "Is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"A few people…people who would know…have told me you didn't want to become a Death Eater."

"I don't know what I wanted," he answered softly. "I don't know what's me and what's not me. My head's not right…hasn't been for a long time. Someone…something is inside me and I…"

Draco's eyes darted to Voldemort. He knew that this was the most truthful his father would ever be with him; it was partially the Veritaserum and partially the fact that he was about to die, or worse.

"I'm sorry I got you into this."

Draco turned quickly back to his father. To his utter shock, there were tears welling in Lucius's tired blue eyes.

"Father…" he murmured. He didn't know what else to say.

"I'm sorry it's ended up this way. But you need to know…you need to know that even if I had the chance to change everything, I wouldn't."

"Are you mad?" Draco said, his voice trembling. "Of course you would."

Lucius shook his head. "No. No I wouldn't. Because if I did…if I did, I would never have had you."

Draco blinked in shock. This night was becoming more surreal and more painful by the minute.

"Father, stop."

"No. I sometimes think you are the only thing I've ever done right in my life."

"Don't say these things. It isn't like you," Draco whispered. This excruciating honesty only made him more aware of what was to come.

"The dead have no use for secrets, Draco. I have never been forthcoming with you…I think you deserve that much from me, considering what I've made you part of."

"You haven't made me do anything," he murmured, shaking his head and blinking away what might have been the beginnings of tears. "I've always had a choice."

Lucius laughed, quietly and despondently. "You think you have a choice, mon fils, but someday you'll learn that with _him_—" his eyes were on Voldemort, dark and full of a jumble of emotions, "there is no real choice. It is obey…or die."

Draco was silent. Things were starting to hit him now, really hit him. He didn't think the potion was wearing off; he was still very calm, all things considered, but with that calmness came an understanding that adrenaline might have cancelled out.

"It's the way of things," Lucius said, his hand closing over Draco's cold, clammy palm in an uncharacteristic gesture of tenderness. "Perhaps not today or tomorrow, maybe not even five years from now…but someday everyone will fall from his grace. And someday _he_ will be dethroned by someone a hundred times more awful…"

Draco's hand convulsed within his. "What do I do? What the hell do I do?"

"What do you do?" Lucius considered, and for a moment his demeanor changed. "You do what every man does when he knows his time is short."

Draco looked up at his father. His eyes were narrowed slightly, his face a mask of hard cleverness.

"You strike first, Draco." Lucius smiled a strange, ruthless sort of smile. "Get him before he gets you. It's that simple…and that complicated. But I will tell you…you've got a hell of a teacher."

Draco followed his glance to Snape. The dark-haired man seemed to be barely restraining himself from pacing. His face, usually so blank, was openly worried.

"What do you…?"

"That's all I can tell you, Draco. I know you are more capable than I ever was."

"Father, I don't know that I share your confidence."

"I didn't ask you to." And Lucius hugged his son for the first time in nearly ten years. It was awkward and strange and perfect. Draco bit his lip, hard, knowing that the pain would keep his tears from spilling over. He hated crying, and he was determined not to let this reduce him to a blubbering mess. Not yet.

Not yet.

"What have you done, then, father?" Draco asked, his voice barely a whisper. "What have you done…to get him before he gets you?"

"You'll see," Lucius said cryptically. "Soon enough, you'll see."

Grass and leaves rustled behind them. Voldemort was slowly approaching. Apparently their time was up.

"I love you, Draco," his father said. "And I hope that saying it now can make up for all the times I didn't say it when you were growing up."

Now Draco was the one who had no words. He looked helplessly at the man who had half-raised, half-bullied him into a shaky adulthood.

_I love you too._

* * *

If he had been the person most people thought he was, he might have enjoyed the look of horrified surprise that flashed across Selena's face. But he was not that person; he had long ago ceased enjoying those kinds of things.

"You." Her voice was venomous.

"Don't move," Sirius said coldly, training his wand on her. He knew as well as anyone else that it would not matter if she had a wand or not; if she truly wanted to hurt him, she could with a mere thought. He had no doubt that she hated him, but she had never retaliated against him before. He was gambling. Playing with fire, as the cliché went.

She said nothing. She didn't need to. Her appearance was ragged; dark circles lined her eyes, her clothes were wrinkled, and strands of hair were escaping her long dark braid. She looked disturbingly like she had the cool twilight morning that he and James had found her in Remus's bed.

"What do you want?" she said at last in a deceptively quiet tone.

"I want some answers."

"Answers?" She was incredulous now. "Sirius Black wants answers from me?" Selena took a step toward him. He did not flinch – not on the outside. "What in your small rattled brain makes you think that I will tell you anything?"

"You're not the one asking the questions, sweetheart," he snarled. Something about her – something about _them_, the Snape line – brought out the worst in him.

"I wouldn't tell you what color the sky is if you asked," she spat.

"I just want to know how we all got here!" he said, frustration seeping into his voice. "There are things missing, things that don't make sense!"

"What doesn't make sense?" she cried. "You tortured my brother for years. Years. You would have done anything to get at him, and you did. I know you did."

Sirius faltered. Wait…wait just a moment…did she mean…?

"What are you talking about?" he demanded.

"You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about."

* * *

"Severus?" Lucius said, just before the Dark Lord's wand touched his forehead.

"Yes?" Snape responded hoarsely.

Lucius turned to look at them with a bemused expression on his face. "Tell Selena… that no matter how hard I tried…I never stopped loving her."

There was a flash of light and a spell that was foreign to their ears. A choked sound escaped Draco. Snape's hand was around his forearm, clutching tightly. He doubted that the boy could keep his feet, otherwise.

Severus remembered to breathe when Lucius's body relaxed and slumped to the dewy grass. Even now, destroyed, the man possessed a strange sort of grace.

"You may do what you wish with him," the Dark Lord said. He did not look away from Lucius's still figure. "But I think you will find that the kindest thing would be a quick death."

And, with a quiet pop and a swirl of air, he was gone.

* * *

Like a key in a lock, things clicked into place in Sirius's head. She thought…she thought that _he _had been the one to drug her and take advantage of her. And why not? Back then, he _would_ have done nearly anything to get at Severus. The thought to hurt her to hurt him had never crossed his mind, so he supposed he was not really the worst kind of bastard…but they didn't know that. Cruelty was cruelty, whatever form it took…

Let her think that, then. He was used to people thinking the worst of him. He'd been called a Death Eater, a murderer, a soulless monster for twelve years. Those sentiments from one more person who doubtless already thought it about him meant nothing.

Let her think he had raped her. That way she would never suspect Remus, and neither of them would ever know what had transpired. Unless, of course, Snape opened his mouth. Even Snape was not so unkind that he would crush both of them, though – and if he had not told her yet, he probably wouldn't. Selena would never think to question his shunning of Lupin, either. He had, after all, been part of the group that tortured him so.

"So you figured it out," he said, letting his old talent for nastiness seep through. "I wondered how long it would take."

Her eyes narrowed. "I knew it was one of your little clique. No one but you would have the gall to do it. Peter was afraid of his own shadow, and James…James was a good person, even though he chose to keep company with _you_."

It was a mark of her trust and love for Remus that she didn't even mention him. Good. Now to twist the knife a little harder…

"I think you knew before," he said. "But you didn't trust yourself. You wanted Remus. Your Slytherin boyfriend wasn't enough." He paused, watching her face. "Everyone knew it." That wasn't true, but he had always been good at making up stories.

"You're sick, Black," she snarled. "And you are hardly one to point the finger. You went through half of Gryffindor house before the ones you hadn't gotten to realized what you were."

"I can't help my charms," he said, smirking. Then the smirk melted off his face. He poured on every ounce of intimidation that he was capable of, which was quite a lot. "Now, you're going to tell me what I want to know."

Selena's eyes narrowed. There was venom in her voice when she spoke, "Or what?"

He advanced on her impulsively. She took a step back, which surprised him; he would not have expected her to fear him, even subconsciously. He would use that to his advantage.

He gripped her jaw before she could react. She stayed very still. Her posture spoke of fear, but her eyes did not. They were full of unadulterated hate.

"The last time, you were asleep," Sirius said softly. "If you don't tell me what I want to know, I won't be so kind this time."

"You have _never_ known what kindness is," she spat.

He moved forward, closing the gap between them. A strange and foreign part of him wanted to show her that he was serious, to pin her against the wall and scare her. She saw it in his mind and she believed it; he could tell from the look on her face.

"Why did it matter?" he asked gruffly, tightening his grip on her chin. "Why did it matter that Malfoy dumped you?"

Her lips twitched. "Fuck you, Black."

"It's a simple question. I suggest you answer it."

"I suggest you get out of here."

"Is that a threat?" He was nearly on top of her now. He had not traded barbs like this with anyone in so long. His better instincts had told him not to push her, not to make her lash out at him, but if she hadn't already…

"I don't like to hurt people, Black, but you..."

"If you were going to hurt me you would have done it already."

A bitter smile crept across Selena's face. "You can hardly pretend to know what I would do."

A force hit him then; not a physical one, but a ripple inside his brain. It was not painful but he knew it was a warning. She was grazing the surface. If she wanted to, she could dive in and tear him apart from the inside.

"Get your hands off me," she hissed.

He didn't move. He wasn't afraid of her…was he? He dared to meet her eyes. Up close, they were like nothing he'd ever seen before. They held so much emotion and so much deadness at the same time…

Their stare seemed to last forever. He could not stop looking into those eyes. They were so haunted…He wondered if his looked like that, too.

Suddenly her eyes clamped shut, and the strange stalemate was broken. Her muscles went limp and he found himself supporting her. A sound issued from between her lips, something between a cry and a moan.

"What the?" he said out loud, unprepared for the sudden weight of her body against him. Sirius took a step back and shifted her bulk against him. He didn't understand what was happening. Was it a ploy? Was something happening to her? A stab of panic shot through him.

"…Selena…?" he said hesitantly. The name was strange on his tongue.

She did not move. He shook her gently. What in the hell…? Was she sick? Did she need a doctor? He tried to ease her to the ground. Damn girl was heavier than she looked. Just then, her body jerked and her eyes flew open. Her hands came up to push against him.

He let go; somehow Sirius doubted she would appreciate his help or comfort. He didn't know why he was giving it, anyway.

She stepped back from him. Sirius saw the end table before she collided with it. Impulsively he reached out to grab her arm. She reacted to his touch as if burned. With a choked cry, she yanked violently out of his grasp. She pulled too hard; her balance was off and Sirius cringed as she tumbled to the floor. There was a loud clatter as she knocked a large mug off the table.

Sirius stood over her, unsure what to do. This was not how he'd envisioned this. The only sound was her ragged breathing. After a moment, Selena looked up at him. His eyes widened. Tears were streaming down her face.

"What's happening?" he whispered. A curious worm of fear began to wiggle in his stomach. She was psychic, or so he'd heard. Maybe she had seen something terrible…

"He's dead," she murmured, her voice barely audible.

"Who?"

She looked up at him. A spark of hatred flared in her face, twisting her pretty features. She moved too quickly for him to get out of the way. Before he knew it, she had shoved the table at him. It hit him solidly in the shins. He had to bite back a cry, but it would have hurt a lot more if the couch was not behind him.

Sirius had a soft landing, but it was impossible to get up. His shins were smarting badly; she'd managed to hit a nerve and his leg probably wouldn't have supported him in that state anyway.

"Wait!" he cried as she shot to her feet.

Selena didn't so much as spare him a look. She melted into her animagus form and a black tail snapped through the air as she went through the window.

"Wait!" he cried again. With a pained growl he kicked the table out of the way and stood. Wincing, he limped toward the door. Christ, his legs hurt! The stupid bitch – he'd been so…well, nice was not the right word but he hardly deserved to have a table thrown at him.

He was outside. He could hear Flitwick's panicked voice. With any luck, the man would not see him. He changed into Padfoot in a split second and found her trail. Her scent filled his nostrils. He ran.

A part of him knew who she was talking about. There was only one person whose death would impact her like that. Yet he could not shake the feeling that it was not Snape. And if it wasn't Snape…it could be anyone. God forbid, it could be Harry. So help him…

* * *

Hermione stirred as she felt her book being pulled out of her hands. How on earth had she dozed off? Until a few minutes ago she had been strung as tightly as a violin's string. Sleep seemed like an impossible achievement.

"You're exhausted. Go to bed."

Hermione opened her eyes. McGonagall was perched on the edge of the couch next to her in a strangely mother-like position. It was obvious that she, too, was finding sleep to be elusive game.

"I can't," Hermione murmured.

"But you will," McGonagall replied. "Because I have told you to."

"I'll just lay there." Hermione drew her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "That is the worst feeling."

"Perhaps it is," her Head of House mused. "But I've let you stay out here long enough. You can worry just as well in your room."

She fidgeted for a moment. Then she spoke hesitantly. "I don't suppose Harry and Ron are sitting up worrying. I don't know why I am. I don't even like Malfoy…"

"I think you see what many of us have begun to see."

"What's that?" Hermione asked, picking idly at the upholstery.

"That people can change," McGonagall said. "It's not too late for Draco…if he is smart enough to start thinking for himself. Besides, I know it is not Mr. Malfoy that you're worrying about."

Hermione looked up, a little surprised. Then again, this was Minerva McGonagall. She had not made a name for herself by tiptoeing around the truth. The witch's green eyes held a strange mix of disapproval and pride.

"Do you think he'll make it?" she whispered.

"I don't know."

A silence stretched between them. It was unusual that McGonagall was being so open, so understanding. She rarely stepped out of her role as Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House to play another.

"I'm surprised that you're not lecturing me on foolish teenaged crushes," Hermione said.

McGonagall chuckled and turned away to look at the fireplace. The fire was low, crackling weakly in the grate.

"I have learned a few things in my time, Hermione Granger. One of which is that you will do what you feel is right, no matter how strange or foolish or forbidden it is."

Hermione flushed. "I'm not…I…"

McGonagall patted her on the shoulder. "Don't worry, dear. I was the same way when I was your age."

She smiled. It was hard to picture McGonagall young and reckless. But, as the story went, 19-year-old Minerva McGonagall had followed Dumbledore across Europe in his hunt for Grindelwald, and had been an integral, if unintentional part of his defeat.

"I will warn you, Hermione," the older woman said quietly, "if he survives this night, he will do everything he can to push you away."

"Why?" Hermione whispered. "It's nonsensical."

"To you, perhaps. But not to him. To become attached is dangerous. He knows his situation is vulnerable. His death can come at any time. To him…closeness with others becomes pointless."

"It's never pointless."

"To you. Remember, you and I think very differently from him."

"I suppose," Hermione sighed.

"You are probably better off, anyhow. And you know I cannot condone a relationship between a student and a teacher."

Hermione's cheeks colored. "I would hardly call it that. It's just…he's interesting, and smart…"

"You're not the first girl to think so," McGonagall said. "Just be careful…and don't expect much." She patted Hermione on the knee and stood. "Now, dear, to bed."

Hermione sighed, but picked up her book and headed for the stairwell.

* * *

"What do we do?" Draco's voice was too quiet.

Severus's mind was racing. He barely heard Draco's question. Lucius was completely unresponsive. He had no idea what Voldemort had done to him. He was breathing, his heart was beating, but he would not wake up. He would not wake up…

"Professor."

He turned to look at Draco. The boy was eerily calm. It was probably the potion; he had lower tolerance for it, or he had just gone numb…he was in shock…Severus knew the feeling well and it was amazing how much one could accomplish in that state.

"We can't leave him here. Professor. Professor…?"

Draco's voice faded away. His ears prickled. Wet grass was rustling…something was coming.

"Draco, get down."

The boy's eyes narrowed in confusion. "What?"

"_Get down._" The seriousness in his voice was impossible to miss, even under the influence of the potion. Draco ducked just in time.

The wind was knocked out of him as something toppled him. Stars exploded behind his eyes. He couldn't draw breath. The world was precariously close to slipping away, but he could hear…a familiar voice calling his name.

"Severus! Severus!!!"

His vision cleared gradually. She was shaking him – that didn't help.

"What the…bloody hell…are you doing here, Selena?" he wheezed. Her face was streaked with dirt and tears; she looked a terrible fright.

"You're alive. Oh my God, you're alive." She was on top of him and she leaned down to hug him constrictively. Her weight crushed what little air he could get right out of him again. It was an awkward position for a brother and sister to be in, but he did not care; he let her lay on top of him for a moment, and then unceremoniously heaved her off. She hit the grass with a muffled gasp.

"You shouldn't be here," he panted. "You shouldn't have left the safehouse."

Selena got to her knees in the grass. "I felt…it felt like you were dead. It hit me…and I…I couldn't think…" tears welled in her eyes.

_I never stopped loving her…_

Lucius's last words echoed in his head. Severus closed his eyes. She had felt someone she loved die…but it was not him. It was not her brother…

"But you're alive," she was saying. "It must have been something else…" Her momentary happiness faded. "What else could it have been? What else could have made me feel that way?"

"Selena…" he started. But her eyes had already found Lucius.

"No," she said. "How? No…"

Draco was staring at her. Why would she care about his father? She hated him…he hated her…he had not understood his father's insistence that he loved her. His father would never allow himself to fall in love with a half blood.

"Selena – " Snape attempted once more.

She was on her feet, backing away. "No. I hate him! I hate him! I shouldn't feel this way…I shouldn't feel _anything_!!!"

"What you should feel means nothing, Selena. What matters is how you _do _feel. You know that."

Selena pressed her palms against her eyes. Her mother had told her that so many years ago. She should not be crying, but now it was impossible not to. Lucius was dead, and Severus had just reminded her of how she had wanted to fight falling in love with him in the first place. She had lost miserably in that fight.

"Shut up," she murmured. "Just shut up."

"He's not dead," Draco spoke up flatly. "You're both acting as if he's dead."

"He's not?" Selena's eyes flickered to her brother. She gave him a scathing look and strode over to where Lucius lay in the grass.

"He's as good as dead," Severus said. "Don't get your hopes up, either of you."

"Shut up!" she said, with a lot more conviction this time. She bent low over Lucius's still form, examining him.

Severus knew it was pointless. With the exception of one time, Voldemort did not err when disposing of those who were inconvenient. But Selena was not as jaded as him, not even after all she'd been through. She would stubbornly hold onto hope, and it would make it that much more painful when things did not change.

"What did he do to him?" she demanded. Her face was fierce. "What spell was it?"

"I don't know," he said.

Her eyes moved to Draco. He shook his blond head slowly. His eyes were becoming glazed over and his lips were tinted blue. Severus frowned. The boy was in shock. He needed a warm bed and a strong dose of Dreamless Sleep potion…

"He's…" she said softly, "it's like he's braindead."

"I'm too late." Another voice cut across the still night. The three of them turned sharply towards its source.

"Cassius!" Selena cried. "What are you doing here? I told you not to get involved!"

"I'm not a child anymore, Selena. I will get involved in whatever I wish. Pardon me if I wished to see my brother."

"Have you lost your mind?" Severus said, a note of exasperation in his voice. "The world thinks you are dead. If you are seen…Cassius, if you are seen, any good you can do is erased!"

"I didn't come here to bloody do good!" Cassius shouted, a strong burst of magic rippling the blades of grass. "I came to find out what the hell happened to my brother!"

"There is nothing to find. He is gone."

"The hell he is," Cassius said through his teeth.

"It's true." Draco's voice was lifeless. "His mind is gone. He's just…"

Glancing at Draco, Severus got to his feet and went over to Cassius. "We cannot speak of these things now," he whispered. "We must go. We must get to safety. Draco is reaching his limit, and frankly, I think we all are. There will be time for questions…time for investigation…but this is not it."

"What do we do? Where do we take him?" Cassius replied.

"To Hogwarts."

"No. Madame Pomfrey is a great Mediwitch but she can't help him. He has to go to St. Mungo's!"

"If we take him to St. Mungo's there will be a lot of uncomfortable questions. Are you prepared to answer them?" Severus snapped.

Cassius opened his mouth but closed it a moment later. "Fine. Hogwarts. But promise me we'll consult a specialist."

"We will…when the time is right."

"Right for who?" Cassius demanded. "If it was Selena, would you want to wait until the time was right?"

Severus didn't know what to say. If it was Selena, he would have had her at the hospital already, instead of bickering. He could see the pain simmering in Cassius's eyes. He had finally forgiven his brother, and now to find him like this…

"First thing in the morning."

Cassius sighed heavily.

"See to your nephew," Severus whispered. "You may be the only thing he's got now."

* * *

Sirius knew he should not be watching. Their feelings, their arguments, their pain…it was not meant to be public and especially not meant for him. But he couldn't believe what he was seeing and could not have turned away if he tried.

Lucius Malfoy the victim instead of Snape? Snape was the spy, and Malfoy was the faithful. It made no sense. None. And Selena was distraught, even though Malfoy had dumped her in spectacular fashion so many years ago and proceeded to ruin her life, just far enough under the radar that she could never prove it was him…

What did it all mean? _Why_ were these things happening? He had wanted so badly to get answers tonight, and in spite of his incredibly stupid behavior, he hadn't gotten any.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Severus Snape's voice was lethal.

Sirius jumped. Bloody hell. Sometimes he really thought Snape had eyes in the back of his head. Either that, or he had some of Selena's psychic gift, too.

Sirius said nothing. Nothing he could say would be a good enough excuse for Snape.

"You have _no_ right," the potions master hissed. "No right to be here. I told you to stay away from my family." Now his wand was out, and far too close to Sirius's face for comfort. "I could hex you to pieces right now, Black, and no one would ever know. You better have a _damn_ good reason, and you better give it to me in the next five seconds or you will be retrieving your spleen from the nearest garbage heap!"

Five seconds wasn't enough time for him to come up with an elaborate lie, so he settled on telling the truth. "I was talking to your sister."

Snape's eyes flashed. "You son of a bitch - "

"None of this makes sense to me!" Sirius interrupted. "I just wanted some answers. You certainly won't tell me anything!"

"For good reason, Black, because you are incapable of discretion!"

"Well I was just trying to talk to her and then she went all funny and passed out and started moaning about somebody dying, and then she ran out the window and I followed her! I didn't think she was in any state to fight if she encountered trouble."

"How gentlemanly of you."

Sirius rolled his eyes at the sarcasm. "Look, I know I shouldn't be here. I'm sorry. I just wanted to make sure she wasn't running head on into her death."

If Snape was taken aback by the apology, he didn't show it. But his next words were uncharacteristically temperate. "This might be the one honorable thing you have ever done in your life, Black. I shan't expect a repeat. Now get the hell out of here before I change my mind and toss the rest of your internal organs in the junk heap along with your spleen."

Sirius was glad to oblige. He turned and shifted into Padfoot. He was three bounds away when Snape's voice floated to him, soft but deadly. "Stay away from my sister, Black. I try to be civilized, but I will end your life violently if you approach her again."

* * *

The surprised look on Dumbledore's face said that he hadn't expected Remus to be out and about so soon, but here he was. "Come in, Remus," he recovered, standing aside to admit the werewolf. "You must be feeling a great deal better if you are coming to see me."

"Somewhat," Remus replied, hobbling past him. "I needed to get away from the infirmary. I've spent too much time in hospitals…"

Dumbledore could not argue with that. "Would you like some tea?"

Lupin nodded and settled heavily into one of the chairs.

"So what brings you here, Remus, other than boredom and the desire to escape Madame Pomfrey?"

This elicited a small but fleeting smile out of Remus. "I've been having strange thoughts. Strange dreams."

"I would think that is only natural after what you have been through. I can ask Poppy for some Dreamless Sleep for you, if you wish."

"No. These dreams…they aren't about what happened at the Revel. They have nothing to do with it."

"I see," Dumbledore said noncommittally. Lupin obviously wanted to talk about them, so he braced himself. One never knew what would be related in times like these. It could be benign, or something of much larger significance – that much he knew from experience.

Remus fidgeted. "Do you remember Selena Snape?" he asked.

Dumbledore blinked. He had forgotten that Remus did not know she had been at Hogwarts. Everyone else had seen her, or at least been told of her presence. Remus had been unconscious, and now speech turned to her less frequently; she was safe, out of Azkaban, and it would be foolish to speak of her too much.

"Of course I remember her," Dumbledore said.

"I've been dreaming about her." Remus's voice was not timid, the way it might have been in times past. He seldom discussed things such as intimacy and attraction; at times it was easy to forget that he needed them like everyone else.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Well, that is hardly unusual…I do recall that you liked her very much in your school days…"

Lupin shook his head, an agitated look on his face. "It's not…the dreams are so real, so vivid. I've never had a dream like that before."

"Our minds are often more powerful than we give them credit for. And to be fair, you have been on a great deal more drugs than usual these last few days."

He shook his head again. "It's not the drugs."

"Then what is it you are worried about?"

Remus took a deep breath and picked up his teacup. A moment later he put it back down again. "Is it possible to put a dream in a pensieve?" he asked.

Dumbledore frowned. "I should think not, unless it is your mind recalling a memory as it sometimes does when you dream. Otherwise, it is just the ramblings of your slumbering mind."

Lupin nodded slowly. Dumbledore watched him; his brows were drawn and his face looked tired and haunted.

"Do you think your dreams are memories?" he asked gently.

"I don't know. But they are so real…I can _feel _her…" Remus trailed off. He did not look embarrassed, only uneasy.

Dumbledore stood up, his chair scraping on the stone floor and causing Remus to jump. The old wizard did not miss it; though Remus was resilient and had thus far been acting as if he was fine (and on some level he probably was), he knew, deep down, that the werewolf was deeply traumatized.

Remus gave him a strange look as he did a quick little jig across the stone tiles. However, the look evaporated when the wall began to open and his pensieve was revealed. Now Remus's face held a strange expression of dread.

"You are more than welcome to see if your dreams are real or not," Dumbledore said. "I will leave the room if you desire."

Remus stood and hesitantly made his way over to the pensieve. "No," he murmured. "Don't leave."

Lupin stared at the pensieve for a long, long time. Dumbledore stood patiently by his desk. He knew what Remus was dreaming about. The events that had taken place in the infirmary and the subsequent information that had been gleaned from it had been reported to him by Minerva. He knew the story. He knew what poor Remus had done, and that Sirius had erased his memories – or so he thought.

At last Remus snapped out of it. "It's just a dream," he said to himself. Blinking, he turned back towards Dumbledore. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to take up your time. My mind is jumbled…from everything…"

"Do not be sorry. I am here, Remus, anytime you need me, and so is my pensieve."

Lupin nodded, and distractedly made his way out the door. Dumbledore sat heavily in his chair. It was obvious that he was remembering what had gone on that night, and it did not sit well with him. How Remus would hate himself if he found out that it was not just a dream…

It was time to pay Sirius Black a visit.


	22. Eye of the Hurricane

Sirius had made it back just before the others. It would not look good if anyone discovered that he had been out. He thought perhaps Snape knew this and took his time getting his group into the castle, or maybe it was just pure coincidence. Snape wasn't one for favors, especially not to him.

He had settled back into his bed in the infirmary, knowing that there would not be any time for sleep. In minutes the rest of them would return and wake Madame Pomfrey, and the attempt to revive Malfoy would begin. He had thought it unlikely that they'd have any success at that, and he was right. At the moment, Madame Pomfrey was sitting at her desk buried in a book. None of them had ever seen anything like what had been done to Malfoy. She was hoping the answer was in a book; somehow he doubted that.

He heard the doors open. Remus was back. But he soon found that it was not Remus, because Albus Dumbledore pushed back the curtains to his cubicle and then quickly closed them. In a breath, he cast a silencing charm.

"We need to talk, Sirius," he said as he took a seat. His tone was serious, devoid of his usual humor.

"About what?" A worm of nervousness crept into Sirius's belly. It was ludicrous, but at times he still felt like a cowed student around Dumbledore.

"Remus is remembering."

"Remembering what?" he asked before his brain could catch up with the implications. Dumbledore said nothing. After a moment, all Sirius could say was, "Oh."

"He came into my office asking if you could put a dream in a pensieve. He said the dream was about Selena, but it was so vivid he was not sure it was a dream at all."

Sirius sighed. "I don't understand. I know we did the memory charm correctly. We made absolutely sure that it was right."

"I have no doubt of that. But as I said to Remus, the mind is a curious thing. What has transpired the last few days has certainly jarred him. In here," Dumbledore said, gesturing, "he has nothing to do but think and he would rather think about anything than what he went through."

"But how is it possible?"

"You did not erase his memory. You merely altered it."

"Erasing it would have been too suspicious."

Dumbledore sighed. "You should have done the right thing, Sirius."

Sirius's eyes narrowed. "I did. I did what I thought was right at the time."

"Yes, and a certain amount of it can be chalked up to immaturity, but you knew you should have reported it, Sirius."

His eyes flashed. "He would have been expelled. He might have gone to Azkaban. His life would have been ruined."

"Yes, it probably would have," Dumbledore said matter-of-factly.

"You would have had me do that to my best friend?" Sirius asked, disbelieving.

"I would have had you do the right thing."

Sirius sighed in disgust. "I couldn't. He worked too hard to get where he was. I was not going to let one stupid girl change that."

It was Dumbledore's turn to sigh in disgust. "One stupid girl? Sirius, if that girl had been someone in your family – and I know you did not get along with them, I know you were never close with them – but they are your family, nonetheless, and if it had been one of them…"

Sirius thought long and hard. It was true, his family hated him and he more or less hated them in return. But Narcissa's death had shaken him a little more than he would ever admit. He tried to picture his cousins as they had been back in school, spoiled, bigoted teenaged girls, both beautiful in their own strange ways…Narcissa, of course, had the power to make any man stop in his tracks. She was that pretty, until you got to know her. Then her beauty became stunted by the ugliness in her ideals, unless, of course, you held the same ones. Bellatrix was not a waif like Narcissa, but she was far from bulky or unattractive. The thing that alternately attracted and terrified men was her intensity. Everything about her was intense; her eyes, her hair, her features, her speech, her beliefs. And there was a dominance about her that some men were uncontrollably drawn to. If someone had raped either one of them, by drugging them, putting them in a state where they could not control themselves…

It tugged at him. His cousins were cousins in name only, but if such a thing had happened to Narcissa or Bellatrix, he knew some kind of irrational family pride would have kicked in and he would have wanted to know who the hell was responsible. No one, not even his rotten cousins, deserved to have that happen to them.

Sirius sighed. He was beginning to feel the same kind of trapped, claustrophobic feeling he'd experienced back then, when he was faced with the choice of doing the right thing or saving his best friend.

"I couldn't…she'd cheated on him before, with Remus, and Malfoy never noticed. I didn't think it would matter. As long…as long as she didn't get pregnant, I didn't think it would matter. James and I made sure of that. She…I…," Sirius exhaled shakily. He had felt bad about it at the time, but not as bad as he felt now. "I couldn't," he said softly. "I couldn't choose her over him."

"We could have helped him, Sirius. We could have done _something_ to make sure he would not have ended up in Azkaban. Of course he would have been expelled, but I would have seen to it that he completed his education. You didn't think it through, Sirius."

_Of course I didn't_, he thought to himself. _I wasn't really in the habit of thinking things through, back then._ But he could not shake the feeling that he would still have done what he'd done, even if he'd bothered to spend more than ten minutes hashing it out with James.

"You're acting like I was the only one. James wanted to do it, too. And you know he was usually the one that balanced me. He was the one who made me do the right thing."

"That isn't the point," Dumbledore sighed. "The dead are beyond accountability to anyone but their god."

Sirius absorbed his words quietly. It still smarted after all these years, James being gone.

"She thinks it was me."

Dumbledore looked up. "What?"

"Selena thinks it was me. I…I spoke to her last night. She insinuated that it had been me and I went along with it. I let her think it was me. Everyone thinks I'm despicable, anyway, so what's one more thing?"

Dumbledore contemplated him. He saw the pain in the younger man's face. He did feel remorse, likely more than he let on. That was enough for Dumbledore to forgive him. However, he doubted that it would be enough for Remus. Remus would likely never forgive himself, let alone Sirius, who had concealed it from him for so long…

"All I have to do is reapply the charm," Sirius said. "I'll do it while he's sleeping. Then she'll go on thinking it was me and he'll forget all about it and no one will be any wiser for it."

"No," Dumbledore said. "You will not reapply the charm."

Sirius looked at him, horrified. "But – "

"You will not reapply it. If I find out that you do, I will ban you from seeing Harry."

"You wouldn't," Sirius said, his face blooming with a combination of anger and fear.

"I would. What kind of example are you setting for him?"

Sirius struggled. Dumbledore was right, as always. He _was_ setting a pretty crappy example for Harry, generally speaking. He wanted to make it right, but Remus…

"Remus…he'll…he'll want to die, Albus. He'll hate himself."

"I know," the old man said. "And I am sorry that he will have to find out at such a terrible time. But we have more than enough lies swimming around us, Sirius. And if we want to have any chance at winning this war, we have to be able to trust one another. Our enemy cannot do that, and anything we can do that they cannot…is an advantage for us."

Dumbledore stood, already lost in his own thoughts. He left Sirius in a swish of robes and curtains. Sirius leaned back, relaxing the muscles he hadn't known he tensed. He could only pray that Remus would not remember, or would write his dreams off as the musings of a jumbled, traumatized mind. But he knew he was hoping against hope; Remus was smarter than that. He'd seen too many strange and impossible things. He would find out the truth. It was simply his nature. And though forgiveness was also in his nature, Sirius knew that Remus had used most of it a long time ago. _That_ was something that Remus did not give out twice.

* * *

Dumbledore did not go far. Though Severus had not filled him in completely he had heard that they had picked up one more person, and that person was Lucius Malfoy. Less than a fortnight had passed since Lucius had stormed into his school and taken an innocent woman to prison. Now he returned, seemingly redeemed and inches from death. Albus shook his head. Sometimes he thought this simple school infirmary saw far too much – and far too famous – traffic.

Few people knew that the infirmary had a secret room. Severus had not known until he'd been directed to put Lucius in there, and that was something, since Severus had long ago made it his personal ambition to know every befuddling inch that Hogwarts contained. Albus had no idea what the room had originally been built for, but it was coming in handy now.

Even though he knew it was there, Albus still had trouble walking into the wall without hesitating. It was much like the Room of Requirement – when you needed it, it was there. Currently, it had any and all medical supplies one could ever need, and he was fairly sure it could accommodate more than one patient, if need be. Thankfully, he had never needed to test that feature.

He walked through the wall resolutely. He was right; the room could multiply itself. There were no less than five beds now, and a body on every one of them. Lucius, Draco, Cassius, Severus, and Selena, all laid out in a row. Selena was the only one who was conscious, but he could tell that she was fighting exhaustion. Her back was to him and she was staring out the window, her body curled beneath the blankets.

"How are you, my dear?" he asked, shuffling over to join her. She glanced at him, seemingly unsurprised by his presence.

"About as well as can be expected," she murmured.

"What exactly can be expected in this situation?" he asked, surveying the still figures of the others. Even as they slept, fatigue invaded their features. His eyes lingered on Draco. It seemed, paradoxically, that now he had another Boy Who Lived on his hands. True, Voldemort's destruction of his family had not been as deliberate (or as undeserved), but it had happened nonetheless. Draco had escaped mostly through luck; if Severus was not there to coach him, he certainly would have floundered in his audience with Voldemort and that was a prescription for death, or worse.

In some ways, Draco's situation was graver than Harry's. Harry had never known his parents. Sure, he missed them, wished for them, lived in their specter…but he had never bonded with them. He'd had a rotten but acceptable family in his aunt, uncle, and cousin. Because of this, Harry was comfortable on his own and had begun to grow up earlier than most. Few things were handed to him, in spite of what people thought. He still had a ways to go but he was a few strides ahead of most his age. Draco, on the other hand, had lived with his nuclear family his entire life, and whatever one chose to say about the Malfoys, it could not be that they did not love and provide for their son. Draco was spoiled; he was used to having things done for him and escaping consequences because of his family's connections. He had a lot of growing up to do and very little time to do it in. Either he would rise to the occasion, or it would swallow him.

"Let's see," Selena was saying, her voice oddly calm, "I'm still in love with the man who ruined my life and threw me in jail, and now he's pretty much dead. My family is in danger. I'm a fugitive. The whole bloody world is falling down into shambles, _again_, and I'm useless." She examined her nails. "All things considered, I'm great."

Albus bent so that he could see her face. Her eyes were distant, her pupils dilated, and her breathing came slowly. "Has Poppy got you on something?" he asked.

She nodded. "High as a kite."

"I don't know if it's worth me saying this, since you are, as you put it, high as a kite, but…Selena, dear, you are far from useless."

"You're too nice. Always have been. Someday it will bite you in the ass."

"I daresay it already has a few times."

She did not answer. Albus spared her a look. Her eyes were slipping shut, and she was not fighting it. The poor girl looked like she hadn't slept for a long while. He let her slip away. There would be time to speak to her later, when her mind was not fogged with potions.

Grimacing, he stood and made his way over to Lucius. The younger man was so still; if one missed the slight rise and fall of his chest, it would be easy to assume he was dead. Dumbledore took in the paleness of his skin, the slackness in his face, and the places where bruises were rapidly darkening. Poppy had been so busy tending to everyone and trying to revive Lucius that the more superficial injuries had gone untreated. And where Lucius was, he certainly didn't feel anything. The mediwitch would heal them after she had rested. Madame Pomfrey was understandably knackered after such a busy evening.

It was a bit eerie now, with all of them so soundly asleep. Albus frowned. This could be an odd sort of foreshadowing. It was not outside the realm of possibility that every person in the room could end up dead in the near future, himself included. He did not usually think like that, but he knew the tension was building. Soon it was going to explode. Soon Voldemort would make a move, and his moves were always carefully designed for maximum impact.

So what would he choose? He had already made quite a statement in murdering Narcissa Malfoy and effectively murdering Lucius. It should have created hesitation among his followers, but somehow Albus doubted that it had. To them, the Malfoys had deserved what they had gotten. The fact that they were the precious purebloods Voldemort valued so highly was lost. They did not see that if Voldemort won, he was not sharing any of the spoils with anyone, not even his pureblood champions. Intrinsically, Voldemort was selfish – selfish and destructive. If he won…there would be no stopping his rampage, because no company other than his own could please him. He would destroy the world and live in its ruin. And then, only then, would he be happy.

* * *

_She was like liquid under his fingers. Not a single part of her was still. It was exactly as he'd wanted. She was alive, panting, squirming – for him. She was inflamed with passion; her nails raked him, her teeth nipped at his lips when he tried to capture them…he had created something beautiful and terrible and entirely his own. _

_Her sounds were maddening, her smell even more so. He wanted to possess her completely and this was not enough. It would never be enough. He wanted to bite her, to sink his teeth into her soft flesh and taste her essence, but a small rational whisper in his brain told him he couldn't. He would damage her and that had never been his intention. It was a powerful urge nonetheless, and he had to exert serious control to resist locking his jaws around her tender skin…it was a dangerous game and God, it was exciting…_

* * *

Remus Lupin jerked awake, nearly knocking over the book that he'd been reading and scrambling madly to keep it from thumping onto the floor. He caught the book and set it back on the table with shaking hands. It had happened again.

He had come to the library seeking some kind of solace. He was allowed to be out and about; he knew he was under a disguising charm to make him look like a student. Dumbledore did not like to coop people up if it could be helped. He had offered to do the same for Sirius, but Sirius had not seemed too inclined to accept the favor. He supposed he could not blame his friend; he had spent too many years being someone else already.

He had found no solace here. He could not stop thinking about his dreams. His feet had carried him to the dream interpretation section of library. The books had not made him feel better. He hoped the books would tell him it was normal, harmless, just his libido stirring his subconscious, but that was not the case.

At first, he had simply looked up sex. He had no other way to quantify it; it was first and foremost a sex dream. The books told him it was normal, the brain's way to tell him he needed some attention, his mind telling him he needed unity and convergence…

But he knew that it was not just sex. There was something wrong with what he kept seeing when he fell asleep. He was…in control of her. She was not herself. Selena had kissed him, touched him, and he had done the same to her, and however guilty he felt about it, he knew how she acted in such encounters. It was not right. And his irrational desire to bite her, to chance losing his own precarious control – that was not right, either. He had never wanted to do that. In fact, he'd often experienced abject terror over the very thought of it.

Worse still was the feeling he still caught wisps of as he woke. He _wanted_ to control her. Wanted to make her do things. Make her bend to his will. Be and do whatever he wished. These were not traits Remus had ever identified with himself. He was, quite simply, not that kind of person.

He had stared at the spines of the books for a long time before taking a deep breath and opening one anthology to the index. He did not want to look up this word, but he needed to know. His fingers turned heavily to the indicated page, and he read.

_Rape…dreaming of rape indicates…sadistic desire…desire to violate, conquer, force, or to have these things done to you…feelings of vengeance…dysfunction…uncertainty…jeopardizing well-being and self-esteem…_

He had shut the book too quickly, catching his finger. With an intake of breath, he shoved the book back on the shelf. Who were they kidding? His well-being and self-esteem were jeopardized every damn day. He certainly had some feelings of vengeance, but none for Selena. It hurt that she had not picked him, but part of him had not wanted her to, because he would have made such a lousy companion. He could hardly hold it against her. As for uncertainty, it was his entire life, lately. And dysfunction…well, who the hell could say what dysfunctions he would have after all that had happened.

But those other things…sadistic desire? He had never, ever equated hurting someone with pleasure. The desire to violate, conquer, or force…the only one he wanted to violate, conquer, or force was Voldemort and he strongly doubted he was alone in that. He also strongly doubted that he would ever do such a thing, even to Voldemort, but there was no reason that he couldn't think about it. And it was just ludicrous to even think about desiring those things to be done to himself; he'd had more than enough of that, and had not enjoyed a single moment.

That was when his emotions had bubbled over. He knew what had been done to him at Voldemort's gathering; he had been drugged, but still, he knew. It did not change the fact that he _felt_ different. He felt somehow tarnished, used, and dirty, and it drove him mad that now _he was dreaming about doing that to someone else…_

Someone he had loved…_how_ could his mind do such a thing to him? He had struggled not to cry among the dusty stacks. The strong emotions were exhausting, and though he tried valiantly to read something much more benign (Englewood's _Domesticated Magical Creatures_), he had descended into sleep much too easily.

And here he was, his mind mocking him all over again. This could not go on. He could not keep having this dream. He would crack. He had felt dangerously close to breaking down from the moment he'd opened his eyes. He could not explain it. Awful things had happened to him before, and he had always been able to push them aside. But this throbbed inside his brain, the raw knowledge of these newest transgressions, and made his heart race and his muscles jump and he wanted to lash out…

Remus knew he should just go pour it all out to someone. Sirius, perhaps – by now, he knew the gravity of the situation had sunk in and Sirius could not glaze over it. But he also knew it would make Sirius desperately uncomfortable to talk about what had happened. In spite of all his bravado, Sirius was squeamish, and Remus had no idea what had happened to him in Azkaban. For all he knew, things ten times worse had been done to his friend. Such things happened in prisons, even wizard ones. He did not want to stir Sirius's bad memories in order to exorcise his own.

Dumbledore, then. But he was so busy, and he'd already had a chance and something had held him back. His instincts had told him not to go into details with the old wizard. Selena herself, maybe? He had no idea where she was, and even if he did, she probably would not welcome his appearance or his strange stories of dreams where he forced her to have sex with him.

He had never felt so alone in his life. It had taken him a long time to come to terms with what he was and how he had to live because of it. He had always been determined not to hate himself. That was the downfall of so many werewolves. It was all so, so hard right now. He wanted to be back in that depthless coma, where he could fade away from all of this.

He stood up, not bothering to put back his book. He was going to fade. His feet carried him back to the infirmary. Madame Pomfrey had just returned from her nap, by the looks of it, and was preparing for another long day.

"Madame Pomfrey," he said, his voice far away to his own ears, "may I have some Dreamless Sleep potion?"

Her face melted into concern. "Having nightmares?"

He nodded.

"Here you are." She handed over the potion.

He made his way to his bed, already in a fog. He sat on the bed, shook off his shoes, and was about to down the vial of potion when someone stepped into his cubicle. Remus blinked. This must be Draco's uncle. What was his name? Cassius. Cassius Malfoy, who returned from the dead.

"Yes?" he said. The hand in which he held the potion quivered slightly.

For a moment, Malfoy looked conflicted. Then he forged ahead. "You're Remus Lupin, I assume?"

Remus nodded.

Cassius opened his mouth and then closed it. His brows knitted. "I…I know it's none of my business, but…I know what happened to you at that meeting."

"Is there anyone who doesn't?" Remus replied. His brain was far away, but his voice was surprisingly venomous.

Cassius ignored the hostility. "I wanted to talk to you. I wanted you to know that…it happened to me, too."

His words hit Remus like a slap in the face. How foolish he was, to be wallowing in his own sorrows like this. He was not the only one who had ever been raped. And at least he had been lucky enough to be in a drugged stupor when it happened; it would have been infinitely more awful if he had been fully aware.

"Lucius, too," the other man added hesitantly. "He never told me outright, and probably never will, but…I just know." Cassius shook his head. "He would check on me, tell me that he would keep me safe. I didn't understand it. I was too young…but when he was away at school those last few months, there was no one…"

"I don't know what to say," Remus said quietly after a few moments ticked by. It was obvious, in spite of Cassius's guarded words, that the perpetrator had been their father. The dreadfulness of it made Remus feel sick.

"You don't have to say anything. I'm not trying to make you feel bad. I just wanted you to know you're not alone."

Remus swallowed. "Thank you."

Cassius gave him a weak smile. "I know it's small comfort right now, but you will be ok. It's survivable. It's…" his face suddenly turned fierce, his grey eyes flashing, "you can't let it run your life. You can't give in to the fear, the depression. You need to reach out and grab whatever and whoever you have. If they love you…they will do their best to help you through it." The fierce look faded and was replaced by one of earnestness. "But keep in mind that sometimes their best is not very good. And forgive them for it."

"I…I hope I can do that," Remus said honestly.

"You can." Cassius turned to leave.

"Thank you. You didn't have to…I wouldn't have expected…"

Cass turned, a quizzical expression on his face. "You wouldn't have expected a Malfoy to want to help you?"

Lupin shrugged.

"I have noticed that my family has a bit of a bad reputation. I intend to start changing that, because we are not bad people."

"No," Remus said, "you're not."

Cassius paused, looking thoughtful. Then he said simply, "I'm here," and disappeared behind the curtain.

* * *

Remus sat on the bed for a long time, his hand still clutching the dreamless sleep potion. Cassius Malfoy's words had rocked him to his core. _It happened to me…Lucius, too…_

He thought about Lucius Malfoy. He knew he was here, nearly dead, and everyone was so confused by it. Nothing was turning out like it seemed. But he thought about Lucius Malfoy, about the boy he had been…and he thought about what it must have been like, going through school – through life – without ever having told _anyone_. Without ever having someone speak kind words, or words of encouragement, or offer him a comfortable silence to spill his fears into. Salazar Slytherin would have seen the need for such things as weakness. Remus rather thought it was the other way around; the recognition that one needed help, needed friends, needed clarity and closure – that was what brought strength.

That was what propelled him to his feet a moment later. He capped the dreamless sleep potion and put it on the table. He went without thinking to the person he knew would accept what he was about to do.

Sirius was sleeping, but he woke when Remus gently prodded his shoulder. "Remus?" he asked, sitting up after a moment's confusion.

Remus nodded. His hands shook and his lip quivered.

"Moony, don't…don't cry…everything's going to be ok…"

But it was not, and they both knew it. Remus broke out into tears and did not try to check them. They needed to come out, and Sirius needed to learn how to accept them, maybe even release his own.

Sirius was awkward, but wrapped his arms around his friend. Gradually, his grip tightened. "Those…those sons of bitches are not worth crying over." His voice was tremulous.

Remus shuddered. Sirius was tense, taut with anger and grief. It occurred to Sirius that this might be one of the last times Remus trusted him enough to do something like this. If he remembered…

The thought was enough to send Sirius into his own quiet spasm of agony. Remus was his best friend. His _best friend_. He did not know if he could live without him. He put his face in Remus's graying hair and tried his best to sponge all the pain out of him. Remus did not deserve this.

Nobody deserved any of it.

* * *

Cassius sat on the edge of his brother's bed. The conversation with Lupin, though brief, had been draining. He had not seen Lupin until he'd walked into his cubicle, but he could tell from the way the others talked about him that he was slipping into the numbness that had held Cass prisoner for so long. He wasn't going to let it happen to someone else if he could help it.

Sighing, he allowed himself to think back on things. It had taken a long time to shut it away behind the doors of his mind but it was too easy to reopen them. He would never forget certain things; the feel of his father's fingers on the back of his neck as they pressed him to the bed, the smell of the hyacinths that were blooming beneath his window, the irrational desire to scream that would overwhelm him after his father had left him, physically healed but so grievously wounded in his head…

He felt it bubble in his throat now and pulled away from those memories. He would not torture himself. Impulsively, he reached out to touch Lucius's pale face. He wondered if it had been the same for him. He just knew, somewhere in his psyche, that Lucius had fallen prey to their father's sickness, as well. Perhaps only once, but once was enough.

The room was suddenly very cold. A feeling of icy despair gripped Cassius. He gasped as images and words began to flood his mind.

"…_very proud of you…"_

Lucius's pale blue eyes, wide, staring up, full of pain and tears that had not yet brimmed over…

A bathtub full of water stained pink with blood…

"…_will never believe you…_"

Cassius was on the floor, breathing raggedly. Why wouldn't it stop? The things he was seeing…

Severus stirred to his right. His breath came in gasps. He fumbled for his wand. "Expecto…" his voice was hoarse, small.

"Expecto Patronum!" It was Draco. The boy's face was contorted with a strange combination of rage and terror.

Cass's eyes went white. A moment later, the horrible, horrible feeling began to recede, and his mind went quiet. No one moved. Selena had not even awakened. Severus seemed petrified on his cot, paler than usual. Draco stood where he had rocketed to his feet, his wand still pointing at the window. And Lucius, of course, stayed as still and blank as a corpse.

"What…" he gasped, "what was that?"

"Dementor," Severus said, his voice still unusually constricted. "They…they pull all your worst memories up to the surface, make you relive them…"

Cassius was beyond confused. Those memories were not his. They were Lucius's. Lucius was young in them, barely old enough for Cass to have been born. There was no way he could have witnessed the things he saw, and Lucius had certainly never told him about them. Where in God's name had they come from? How were Lucius's memories in his head?

"That was…an excellent Patronus, Draco," Severus murmured. He looked badly shaken.

Madame Pomfrey burst in at that moment, looking frenzied. "What happened? What was the yelling?"

"There was a Dementor outside the window," Snape said tiredly. "Probably because Selena is here."

"I…Well, the last thing you lot need is to relive your worst memories right now!!!" she sputtered.

"I quite agree."

Madame Pomfrey was incensed. "I will be right back. Dumbledore will know about this and send those awful things away from this school!" She stormed out the door.

"What did you see?" Cassius asked a few moments later.

"Too terrible to speak of," Severus murmured. He turned, fixing Cassius in his stare. "What did you see?"

Cassius frowned. He opened his mouth to speak, to relate the odd fact that what he had seen was not his own, but at that moment Madame Pomfrey and Dumbledore burst into the room.

"A dementor, hm?" Dumbledore asked. He was looking at Selena. She was still fast asleep. His eyes then traveled to Draco. The boy looked shell-shocked; Madame Pomfrey was ushering him back into bed.

"He produced a corporeal Patronus?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes. First try," Severus answered, still looking a bit shell-shocked himself.

The old man's brows knitted. "What form?"

Snape's eyes darted to Cassius and then back to Dumbledore. "A dove."


	23. Persistence of Memory

Hermione blinked as the words on the book's page blurred for the third time. She was beginning to think she was too tired to concentrate on her reading. She had not slept well last night, and the lack of information today was driving her mad. Her mind simply wasn't in the right state to absorb ancient runes.

She looked up as someone entered the Common Room. It was Harry and Ron. Neither of them looked tired, but Ron had related Harry's run-in with Draco Malfoy to her earlier that morning. If nothing else, the two of them were curious about whether or not Malfoy had survived the night. Hermione had knocked on the door of McGonagall's study several times and received no answer.

"Anything?" she asked Harry and Ron.

"Nothing," Harry replied, collapsing into an armchair.

"This is so frustrating!" Hermione fumed.

"Only to you," Ron muttered. She glared at him briefly and thought about throwing her book at him, but decided against it.

"Put it this way, Hermione," Harry said. "If anything had happened, it would have been in here." He held up a copy of the Daily Prophet.

"Yeah. A Malfoy or a Hogwarts Professor dying would be big news," Ron agreed.

Hermione took the copy of the Prophet and skimmed it quickly. They were right; there was nothing of note within its pages, at least not as her concerns went.

"I think it's safe to assume that they're alive," Harry said. "And that's all we're going to get for now. You may as well resign yourself to that. I say, everything's fine unless Snape doesn't show up to class on Monday, and you can't know that until Monday, so you may as well stop worrying about it."

"Though we still can't figure out why you worry about him at all," Ron added.

"You should worry about him," Hermione said, exasperated. "He's our only insight into what You-Know-Who is doing."

Ron said nothing. Harry was equally silent. Then, after a few moments ticked by, he said quietly, "It won't last forever, Hermione. He's going to be discovered and killed. Voldemort isn't exactly the forgiving type."

"It doesn't have to be that way," she said stubbornly. "You haven't resigned yourself to that. Why should he have to?"

"Hermione, I didn't do the things he did!" Harry nearly shouted. "I didn't take Voldemort's mark and kill people in his name and then decide I had chosen the wrong side!"

"That's _not _fair, Harry! Haven't you ever made a mistake?" she shot back.

"I've made plenty," he simmered. "Hermione, you don't understand who he is. He's a Slytherin for a reason. He took that mark because he _wanted _it. Don't you get it?"

"I get it, Harry. But you don't know the circumstances. You don't know _why_ he wanted those things."

"It doesn't matter! The point is that part of him is bad, and always will be. He isn't this misunderstood martyr that you seem to think he is!"

Hermione stood up too quickly and the huge runes textbook slipped from her lap, landing on the floor with a resounding thud. "All of us have the capacity to be bad, Harry. It all depends on the situations we encounter and the choices we make. And those choices aren't always the right ones! Does that mean we're not worthy of forgiveness?!" she finished, her fists clenched with rage.

Harry blinked at her, not knowing what else to say. She was right, of course, but she would never sell him on Snape.

"Bloody hell!" Ron cried, breaking the silence. "Are you in love with him or something?"

"Oh, of all the ridiculous things!!!" she huffed. Her energy had fled; there was just no convincing Ron and Harry that Snape was a good man. She picked up her rune book and sat on the couch, opening it up once more. She pretended to read; in reality her head was throbbing with irritation and the words were swimming on the page.

Ron and Harry exchanged a glance. Evidently the altercation was over. They were mystified by her behavior, but thankful that she was no longer yelling. "Um," Ron ventured, "I guess we're going to go to Hogsmeade."

"I have some reading to do," she said curtly. "Enjoy yourselves."

Ron gave Harry a look that said they had better get out of there. Harry nodded. Ron made a beeline for the portrait hole and Harry followed. At the last moment, when Ron had already gone out, he turned.

"Hermione…"

She looked up and smiled a half-forced smile. "Don't worry about it, Harry. I know I'm playing with fire."

On his face, looks of concern and relief mingled. He smiled back at her and then ducked outside the portrait hole. She could hear his footsteps running to catch up with Ron.

* * *

"Maybe she's right," Harry mused, putting down his butterbeer. "Maybe I'm a prat."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Don't you start."

"Well, I guess I can be sort of black-and-white at times. What if this is one of those times?"

"Harry," Ron said, placing his palms on the table and leaning forward, "you know that under normal circumstances I would never point out Malfoy as an example, but when he said that you should let yourself have enemies, he was right."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I think Snape singles you out for two reasons. One, he hates you, and two, because you need to learn how to deal with an enemy."

"He is twisted enough to think that he's doing me some kind of favor by treating me like dirt," Harry agreed.

"Maybe he is." Ron lowered his voice, his expression changing. "I don't like to think about this, but if you're ever captured by You-Know-Who again, he's not exactly going to give you tea and biscuits."

"Ron, _nothing_ Snape could do to me could ever match even one Cruciatus from Voldemort. It isn't even worth comparing."

"Not comparing, but…this is the best way I can explain it, Harry. You know my brothers. You know that they more or less tortured me growing up, because they could and because that's what siblings do, but anyway…the point is, I learned to anticipate their attacks. I learned to avoid and retaliate on their level. I guess what I'm saying is…that by dealing with Snape's petty tactics, you're getting a glimpse into how a Slytherin thinks, how he would go about attacking and undermining you. You're also seeing his weaknesses. Obviously nothing compares to…to You-Know-Who and what he would want to do…"

"I see what you're saying, Ron." He looked at his red-haired friend, frowning. "Now you're sticking up for him?"

"No. I still think he's a git."

"But a purposeful one?"

Ron nodded.

"Where did all of that come from, anyway?" Harry asked, finishing his butterbeer.

"Dunno," Ron shrugged. "But what if Hermione really is in love with him?"

"She can't be. She isn't." _She's got Krum_, Harry thought to himself, but did not say it. That was still a sore spot with Ron.

"I'm serious, Harry. What if she is?" Ron's voice was grave, his face almost comically grim.

Harry didn't want to think about it. "If she's in love with Snape, we'll commit her to St. Mungo's."

Ron laughed and got up to get them more butterbeer. That was the unspoken end of the conversation; Snape did not come up again.

* * *

Neville Longbottom started badly as he emerged from the bathroom and nearly plowed into Hermione.

"Hermione!" he gasped. "What are you doing up here?"

"Borrowing something," she replied resolutely, shutting Harry's trunk.

"Oh," Neville said, setting his things down on his bed. "I didn't think we were allowed in each other's dormitories."

"I'm allowed in here," she said, shaking out Harry's invisibility cloak, "but I don't think boys are allowed in the girls' dormitory."

"Oh. Hey," he whispered, "how is…Harry's godfather doing?"

"He's fine. All healed."

"He's…he's really innocent?"

"Yes, Neville, I've seen the proof for myself."

Neville shook his head. "Then why hasn't the Ministry cleared him?"

"Because the proof got away."

Before Neville could ask her any more questions, Hermione wrapped the cloak around her shoulders and said, "See you later, Neville."

* * *

So this was where McGonagall was hiding. Hermione had snuck into the infirmary, certain that she would find some clue as to what was going on. Sure enough, there were McGonagall and Dumbledore, both sitting with Madame Pomfrey and poring over books. It was an odd sight, actually; she couldn't recall a time she ever saw Dumbledore looking for answers in a book. She supposed he had acquired the reputation of being wiser and surer than any book.

"None of these worked?" Dumbledore asked, holding up the book he was looking at.

"No. I feel like I've tried everything, Albus. Everything within the bounds of sanity, anyway," Madame Pomfrey answered.

"Then maybe we need to start looking outside those boundaries," McGonagall said. "After all, the person who applied the spell isn't exactly sane."

"Do you mean dark magic?" Pomfrey asked, looking slightly aghast.

"Many spells are only considered dark because they are misused."

"But they might make things worse. There has to be some other option!"

"Ladies, I agree with both of you," Dumbledore interrupted, "but arguing will not solve our problem. I have enlisted Madame Pince to do an extensive search of the entire library for books that may help us, dark magic included. If we find something, we will debate the morals once we get there."

Hermione's eyes widened. Obviously someone had not escaped the night unscathed, and for Dumbledore to consider treating them with dark magic…it must be bad. Feeling her stomach clench with nerves, she did a sweep of the infirmary.

"Isn't he better off at St. Mungo's?" McGonagall was saying. "Surely they have seen something like this before, or have a wider pool of resources."

"That is what I recommended, but think of the questions, Minerva."

"What questions? He fell out of the Dark Lord's graces, it's almost expected that he would end up this way."

Who were they talking about? There was Lupin, asleep, his face drawn, and one cubicle over Sirius was pacing. Other than them, there was only one other person in the infirmary, and that person was a student who was knocked out cold. Judging by the shards of wood in a heap near his bedside, he had had a flying accident.

Where were they? Where were Snape and Malfoy?

She nearly gave herself away with an involuntary scream when a person emerged from the wall less than a foot away from her. She managed to clamp down on it when she realized that it was Cassius Malfoy, and that he had come from a room hidden inside the wall. Well, that certainly was handy.

She waited a moment to make sure no one was coming out behind him. When no one came, she took a deep breath and stepped through the wall. She was not prepared for what greeted her.

Closest to her was Lucius Malfoy. He was laid out on his back, unnaturally still and very pale. Bruises stood out against his milky skin, ten different shades of purple. He looked like a corpse on a muggle tv show laying on the coroner's dissection table. A moment later, she stifled a gasp when his eyes flickered open unexpectedly. They were so blue, but vacant, and they slipped closed after a few seconds.

Hermione's eyes traveled from Lucius to Draco when the latter jumped out of his seat. "He opened his eyes," Draco said, a note of desperation in his voice. His hands went to his father's shoulders and he shook them gently.

"It won't do any good. It's a reflex. He's not conscious."

Hermione whipped around. There he was. He was alive. Snape was alive. He looked like hell.

"How…how do you know?" Draco demanded. "He's…" but Draco did not finish, and collapsed back into his chair. "Maybe Voldemort was right. Maybe we should just…let him go," he whispered, his head in his hands.

"You can't give up so quickly, Draco. We will figure something out." Snape didn't sound too convinced of his own words.

_Move,_ a voice echoed in Hermione's head. She started, looking around wildly. Her eyes settled on Selena Snape. Selena was staring right at her in spite of the cloak. _Cassius is coming back. You're blocking the door. If you don't move, he will walk into you and your cover will be blown._ Hermione sidestepped just in time. Cassius burst through the wall as Draco spoke.

"He needs to be in St. Mungo's! I don't care about anything else. I want him in St. Mungo's – doesn't my opinion count for _anything_?" Draco fumed, standing up again.

"Yes, it does count," Cassius said. "I put my foot down. He's going to St. Mungo's in two hours."

"I'm going with him."

Cassius nodded. "No one is going to argue with you, Draco. We are done arguing." Hermione did not miss the glare he cast at Snape.

"And what are you going to tell them?" Snape said to Draco, returning the glare.

"That Voldemort did this to him."

"They are going to ask questions, Draco. You can't just tell them you were in attendance at one of the Dark Lord's little soirees without consequences!"

"I'm not a fool," Draco said through clenched teeth. "I think you'll find that I am clever enough to work this in our favor."

Severus sighed. "Just be careful. Do not say more than you need to."

Draco did not answer him. His gaze was back upon his father, intense and worried.

"What about you, Selena?" Cassius asked. "Are you going to stay here or go back to the safe house?"

"Not here," she murmured. "I need to get back to my predictions. I need to be able to see things like this coming…"

"Do not blame this on yourself," Snape said sharply. "You have no control over the things you foresee."

"You don't understand, Severus. I haven't seen _anything_…since Azkaban. It's like there's some blockage," she sighed.

"It's been less than a week since you got out of there, Selena, you have got to give yourself a chance before you panic!"

Frowning, she nodded. "You're right. Maybe I'm just overreacting. Or the stress is throwing me off…"

"Yes," Cassius agreed, collapsing into a chair, "it has been a most stressful week."

"We need to agree on something, though." Snape stood up and made his way over to the window, his face lined with concern. "What happened last night cannot happen again. Selena, you have to stay put, wherever you are, no matter what you feel from me or anyone else that you might consider important or dear to you. It could be a trap, they could be _waiting_ for you."

As Snape paused, Hermione thought to herself, _That's a fine thing for him to say when he went headlong into that floo connection into a possible trap!_ Selena's eyes flickered to her very briefly, and then settled back on her brother.

Severus continued heavily, "Make no mistake, the Dark Lord knows of your abilities. If you start churning out predictions that counter his strikes, he is going to want you dead. I _will not _have you deliver yourself to him!"

"I am not going to just sit around when I know that something awful is happening! I can fight as well as the next witch!"

"Selena, that isn't the point!" Hermione's eyes were wrenched to Cassius as he spoke up. "I know I haven't been here long, and I know I still have a lot to learn, but I can tell already that life is going to become a lot more dangerous soon. We are going to get hurt. We might die. It's war even though no one is calling it that just yet. You have to be prepared to deal with the fact that we might not make it through, and the same for us – you might not make it through either, and it isn't any less painful for us to lose you!"

"No one is going to die," Draco said between his teeth.

"You've seen what we're up against, Draco. Do you honestly think that?" Cassius replied sadly. Draco closed his eyes and sighed. It looked to Hermione that he wanted nothing more than to tune this conversation out and pretend the last week had never happened. She could hardly blame him.

"Cassius, you have to keep your head, as well," Severus said quietly. "I know that you did not care last night, and I don't expect you to care much more today. But you are, in this world, a dead man – you don't exist. That gives you a tremendous advantage. Please, try to keep it for as long as possible. You can do a lot more good than many of us who do not have the luxury of being a ghost."

Cassius looked irritated. "I told you already I didn't come here to do good."

"Don't lie, Cass," Selena whispered. "It's all you ever wanted. Please, listen to Severus."

Cassius shot a glare in her direction. "You won't."

"I will _try._"

Snape's foot stamped against the stone in agitation. "Trying isn't good enough! It is one thing for me to gamble with my own life, but the three of you are _not_ going to become involved!"

"It's too late for that," Draco said, his face hardening.

Hermione saw Snape's fists curl tightly against the windowsill. He was frustrated, his posture tense.

"_What_ are you looking at, Selena?" His voice startled Hermione, sharp and low, very different from the way it had been moments before. Her eyes jerked to Selena. Selena's voice resounded in her head.

_Get out. He knows you are here._

Her first step was clumsy; the cloak was long and she nearly trod on it. She could not be seen. If Snape saw her, he would never speak to her again. Intuitively, she knew that this second trespass would be all it took. He would shut her out, shun her, possibly even loose his considerable bile upon her.

He was moving across the room even as Selena was saying, "Severus, it's nothing, I was just losing focus." She sidestepped quickly, her adrenaline spiking. In a breathless moment, she stumbled back through the door. His hand reached out, swiping the air where her face had been a second before. If she had not moved, his fingers would have brushed right over her cheek.

Hermione swallowed heavily, frozen beneath the cloak an inch from the infirmary wall. Madame Pomfrey was bustling behind her, attending to a student. She couldn't hear what was going on inside the hidden room. Evidently, Selena had talked him out of pursuing his paranoia any further. She breathed a shaky sigh. Selena was not the only one with a psychic gift. She hadn't believed Harry years ago when he said that it was like Snape could see right through the Invisibility Cloak, but now she knew it was not a matter of seeing. It was a matter of _feeling_, somehow knowing that someone else was there…

She retreated to Gryffindor Tower knowing more than she had before, but not feeling any better about it.

* * *

She was sure they had tried to keep Lucius's admittance to St. Mungo's quiet, but it was impossible, given his standing. It was the top story in the Daily Prophet the next morning. Hermione had not told Harry or Ron about her little trip while they were at Hogsmeade, and as such she tried to look surprised when an owl dropped her copy of the Prophet on the table, narrowly missing her cereal.

"Whoa," Harry said, his eyes devouring the story.

"You're not kidding," Ron echoed.

Harry's eyes flickered to the Slytherin table. Draco was there, nibbling toast and steadfastly ignoring the not-so-subtle stares the entire hall was directing at him. Crabbe and Goyle were nowhere to be found.

"This is…" Harry shook his head. "Unbelievable. I don't understand it."

"What on earth did they do?" Ron looked almost painfully confused, and to his credit a little upset. "It must have been bad, to cut one into pieces and put the other in a coma!"

"And this is a very clear statement from him," Harry jerked his head in the general direction of the Slytherin table, "_against_ Voldemort."

"He did say that day in the infirmary that he's not a Death Eater, Harry," Hermione pointed out.

Harry put down his copy of the Prophet. His face was troubled. All of this, coupled with Malfoy's strange behavior...

"There is much, much more to this than meets the eye."

"Obviously," Hermione stated. Then she couldn't control herself – just once, she'd get them back. "But you're not going to find out until the information comes out, so what's the point in worrying about it?" She gathered her books in a huff and moved away, leaving them speechless.

Ron and Harry shared a glance.

"Ok…" Ron said, shaking his head, "Hermione one, Ron and Harry…"

Harry finished for him. "Zero."

* * *

_Lucius tensed. The Dark Lord was coming. Hastily, he finished what he had been doing and turned just in time. His back was against the desk and Voldemort blocked the exit; there was nowhere for him to go. A Slytherin always noticed such things…_

"_Good morning, Lucius," Voldemort said, his voice deceptively even. "It is good to have you back."_

_Lucius said nothing. He had awoken roughly an hour before, his head throbbing, curiously empty and full at the same time. His brain was still addled, but in a different way. Memories floated behind his eyes and black gaps loomed where there should have been memories. He understood what had happened when Selena invaded his mind. Inadvertently, she had destabilized something – the something that had been guiding his actions for so long._

_He noticed blood, stark against the Dark Lord's pale skin._

"_Where is my wife?" Lucius said hoarsely. Narcissa should have been there._

"_I have punished her, Lucius."_

"_For what?" His voice was hard now, his eyes flinty. Voldemort's slits of eyes narrowed._

"_You do not know?"_

_Lucius shook his head. He truly didn't. That memory was gone._

_Frowning, Voldemort said, "We shall have to deal with that." He turned to sweep out of the room._

_A flare of hatred lit in Lucius's chest, a staggeringly strong and violent emotion, and he reached for the letter opener on the desk. Without much thought, he cast it at the retreating back of the Dark Lord. His aim was true; the blade stuck in Voldemort's pale skull like a knife inserted into a ripe melon._

_The Dark Lord was still. Lucius did not dare move. This was a time when he could not explain his actions to himself; he did not know why he hated the Dark Lord so, but knowledge of that hate was enough. Lucius did not hate easily; only those who had wronged him very, very badly earned it. Hate was strong. Hate lifted the boundaries of his conscience and allowed him to kill._

_Voldemort's pale hand reached up and in one vicious movement wrenched the letter opener from his head. The wound did not bleed, nor did it seal itself; it merely stayed upon his crown, a slash of pink gaping like a half-rotted mouth._

_The Dark Lord turned and contemplated the letter opener in his bony hand. "I am forcibly reminded of why I ever liked you in the first place, Lucius. A beautiful boy with an ugly, ugly soul underneath…" He took a step toward his servant. "But surely you know that it will take a lot more than this to kill me."_

"_I just wanted the satisfaction," Lucius spat. He was surer than ever that this was right. These feelings were not a fluke. They were his, and he had the nauseating sensation that very few of his emotions had been his lately…_

_Voldemort laughed coldly. "And you have had it." He advanced on Lucius until he was so close that he could have embraced him. "But now, Lucius," the Dark Lord's voice had lost all its humor and his face was terrifying, "now the satisfaction is all mine."_

_He moved quickly. Before Lucius could react, Voldemort had plunged the letter opener into his hand. Not just into his hand, but through it. Lucius could not control a taut scream of pain. He was pinned, trapped – even if he wanted to fight, he couldn't, because he was tethered to the desk._

_The Dark Lord's hand was on his neck. He was being pressed backwards over the desk, his impaled hand twitching and a small river of blood beginning to drip down the antique wood._

"_I have given you many things, Lucius, but your gratitude is lacking. Let us find it, shall we?" The tip of his wand was against Lucius's throat. "Crucio."_

_Screams echoed through the Manor. Lucius had incited a peculiar rage in the Dark Lord, and he did not let up his torture for nearly an hour. When he relented, Lucius was incapable of speech. He slumped against the desk, his hand still stuck to the top. His writhing under the curse had worsened the wound and a steady tide of blood dripped onto the right side of Lucius's face._

_Voldemort stepped away from him. The blond man's breathing was erratic. He was close to death._

_He stared at Lucius for a long minute. Death would suit him, he could tell. Unfortunately there would be no death for Lucius Malfoy, not today. But perhaps tomorrow…_

* * *

Selena came awake so quickly that her head swam. Lucius's screams echoed in her head, as did the image of Voldemort with the letter opener sticking out of the back of his skull. She had never seen a picture of the Dark Lord, and for good reason; none existed and it was far too unlucky to even think of drawing a portrait. There were the few from his time at Hogwarts, but it was a given that he did not look like that anymore. So the everyday witch or wizard had a faceless nemesis – faceless, but she had no doubt that anyone would know him the moment they saw him. Somehow, that made him all the more terrifying.

This dream…this _vision_…was her first visual acquaintance to the creature that was Tom Marvolo Riddle. She closed her eyes and Voldemort appeared there. With a noise of frustration she stood. Now that she knew what he looked like, she would be seeing him all the time.

Never mind that, though. Lucius had tried to kill the Dark Lord – his lord. Very recently, and with enough venom that she knew he meant it. She was certain of it, and not in the least because of the thin white scar she'd noticed on the back of Lucius's right hand.

Lucius was a conniving sort of man, always looking for greater power and prestige. But that Lucius was not the one who had struck out at the Dark Lord. That man was someone different. Someone that she might have known, once…

Voldemort's words spiraled through her mind.

_A beautiful boy with an ugly, ugly soul underneath…_

No. Until that day when Marius Malfoy went insane, there had been nothing ugly about him.

* * *

Draco sighed as a stack of letters thudded onto the table. The interview with the Prophet had made him a celebrity for all the wrong reasons, and while it was nice to read letters of support, there were also letters that promised dark and painful deaths for his betrayal. He found it kind of funny, since he had never pledged his allegiance to anyone in the first place. Not truthfully, anyway.

Today, though, there was one letter that stood out from the others. It was not formally addressed as the others were, and the paper looked battered. He opened it cautiously, unsure what to expect. It was two short sentences.

_Draco,_

_I've seen something. Need to speak to you – I'll be underneath the stands after your next Quidditch match._

_-SS_

Draco frowned. The next match was in two days. He had been hoping that quidditch would take his mind off things, but now he knew that he'd be distracted the entire match. What on earth could she have seen? It was going to drive him insane.

In the meantime, though…

* * *

Harry sped out of potions, hot on Ron's heels. Hermione was already gone, having finished her potion before them as usual.

"That actually wasn't so bad," Ron muttered under his breath.

"No, it wasn't," Harry agreed. The potion assigned had been difficult enough, but Snape's usual hovering and snide comments were conspicuously absent. It was amazing how much easier class was without it.

Harry walked into Ron when the redhead stopped suddenly.

"Ron, what the--?" Harry peered around his friend's broad shoulders.

Malfoy's smug glance met him. Since Ron seemed to be temporarily dumbfounded, Harry spoke cautiously.

"Can we help you?"

"You can, actually," Draco said casually, as if he approached them for help every day.

"Um," Harry faltered, "how, exactly?"

Draco's eyes did a quick sweep of the corridor. Evidently he didn't like what he saw, for with a slight jerk of his head, he indicated they should start walking. Harry moved to follow. Ron did not.

"Ron?" Harry said. Ron looked baffled. Harry sighed impatiently, and in a gesture that was oddly reminiscent of Hermione, grabbed his best friend by the wrist and pulled him down the corridor.

"Ok," Harry said, once the door was shut. "What is it that you want?"

"Two things," Draco responded, sitting backwards in one of the dusty chairs. "But business first."

Harry took a seat and tried not to look stiff. Ron stood by the door, his arms crossed impassively.

"I have a feeling," Draco started, "that for whatever reason, the two of you know a lot more about the past relationship of my father and Snape's sister than I do."

Harry quirked an eyebrow. "We might."

"I'm not stupid enough to think you'll just tell me. I'm prepared to make it worth your while." Malfoy leaned down and tugged something from his satchel.

"What are those?" Ron spoke up.

"Answer keys to every History of Magic test through seventh year."

Ron's mouth fell open.

Harry was similarly stunned. Then again, he was not; the Slytherins would have something like that.

"Do you have those for every class?" Ron asked, awestruck.

Draco shook his head. "All the other professors change their tests every year. Binns is too dead to care."

"I can't believe no one in Gryffindor ever caught onto that!" Harry exclaimed. "Ron, your brothers!"

"I know," Ron nodded. "I'll have to tell them that they're slacking off."

"That's because you lot are too honest," Draco sniffed. "Now, are you interested?"

"Yes," Ron said, all pretense gone now.

"…Yes," Harry grudgingly admitted. If Hermione ever found out…ah, but she wouldn't. He would make sure of that.

"All right." Draco placed the stack of papers on the weathered desk in front of Harry. "Look through them if you want."

Harry gave the stack a cursory glance. Draco had expected this; he'd placed the last exam they'd taken on the top. Though Harry barely remembered it, the questions were familiar. Draco wasn't playing them.

"Keep that to yourself," Draco said. "I'd get the shit kicked out of me if anyone knew I'd given it to a Gryffindor."

Harry nodded. It spoke volumes that Draco would even think of trusting them with his reputation, not to mention personal safety.

"All right. What do you want to know?"

"Whatever you do."

Harry sighed. "It isn't much. When Selena arrived here, Hermione went to the library to look her up--"

"What else is new," Ron grumbled under his breath.

"Anyway, she found yearbooks from the years that they were in school."

"Yearbooks?" Draco looked thoughtful. "I didn't know Hogwarts had them."

"Yeah, us either. Selena was in Ravenclaw. She played quidditch."

"What position?"

"Seeker. Apparently she and your father had a pretty fierce rivalry."

Draco shook his head, looking annoyed. "I had _no idea_ my father played quidditch."

"He won the cup seventh year." Harry paused. Purely from a quidditch standpoint, he could say this. "He was pretty good."

"He must've said something," Ron said, "especially when you were picked as seeker."

Draco frowned. "No. Nothing."

"Strange," Harry murmured.

"What else?" Draco pressed after a moment.

"Well, it appeared that they hated each other…until sixth year. In that year's yearbook they're featured as best couple."

"In the whole school?" Draco looked incredulous.

Harry nodded. "From what I understand, everyone was convinced they'd get married. It looked…"

"Looked like what?"

"Ah, well, from the picture it looked like they were really…in love."

Ron snorted from the doorway, unable to contain himself. He still had a hard time believing that Lucius Malfoy could love anyone but himself. Draco cast him a look, but it was half-hearted. His eyes returned to Harry.

"And then what?"

"Selena wasn't in the seventh year yearbook."

"Why?"

"We don't know. She never came back to Hogwarts."

"And Snape did?"

Harry nodded.

Draco bit his lip, thinking hard. He knew why they'd broken up; his father had discovered that the Snapes were halfbloods. But was that enough to keep her from returning?

"That's all we know."

"Did you bring those yearbooks back to the library?"

"Yes."

"I think I'll be taking a look at them."

Harry stood up, sensing the oddly cordial rendezvous was over. He picked up the stack of test answers and stuffed them into his bag.

"Um…thanks?"

Draco smirked and breezed out of the room without another word.

Both of them stood there for a minute. At last, Ron fixed Harry in a piercing glare. "Not a word of this to Hermione, you hear?"

Harry laughed. "Ron, I am with you completely."

As they walked back out into the corridor, Ron realized something. "Hey…"

"What?" Harry asked, looking over his shoulder.

"He said there were two things he wanted to talk about," Ron stated. "He never mentioned the second."

Harry had completely forgotten. "You're right." He looked out the window they were passing and shook his head. "I guess we'll never know."

* * *

The Dreamless Sleep wasn't working. It was supposed to knock him out and keep him down, but tonight it wasn't doing either. Remus fought the urge to turn over again; he had done it a hundred times already. Sleep would not be a visitor at his bedside tonight.

Two days had passed since his conversation with Cassius Malfoy. He had caught glimpses of the man here and there, but couldn't find the courage to approach him. The blond had gone out on a very perilous and personal limb to offer him some comfort. Remus had yet to find a real way to thank him.

He lay in bed and breathed. It was so, so quiet. There was nothing but his own heartbeat to distract him. This was worse than the dreams. When he was awake, he was rational. And when he was rational, he couldn't stop his mind from spiraling in a hundred different directions.

It returned to that corner in Dumbledore's office. The corner illuminated by a silver glow, both enticing and terrible. It was his great question mark. He burned to stand over that pensieve and at the same time he would do anything to avoid it.

Remus Lupin knew he couldn't avoid it – not much longer. And why should he? Maybe knowing would end this plague. Or maybe it would destroy him, but either way…

Either way, it would be better than sitting here and agonizing.

He felt like he was in a dream as he traversed the dark corridors. Somehow, even as a grown man, it still seemed a bit out of bounds to sneak around Hogwarts after hours. Or maybe it was that he had come to expect more from the darkness. More pain, more fear, and more isolation – as if there were not enough already.

Dumbledore wouldn't be awake at this hour. This was pointless. He'd come this far, though. He was going to see this whim through. Or perhaps, his mind whispered, he'd come now precisely because he _knew_ that the pensieve would be inaccessible. The mind did work that way, sometimes.

"Licorice wand," he muttered. The gargoyle began to rise, and so did his nerves.

Remus knocked on the door of Dumbledore's office softly. Too softly. He was going through the motions but he didn't really want to do this. Dumbledore was asleep anyway, it wouldn't matter how loudly he knocked…

"Come in."

He could only stand there for a moment, frozen. Damn Dumbledore and his odd hours!

The office door opened and Dumbledore poked his head out into the hall. "Oh, Remus, it's you."

"I…yes…if this is a bad time…" he stammered.

"No, it's fine. I've just made a pot of tea, as a matter of fact…" Dumbledore stood aside to admit him.

"Um…"

Dumbledore raised a silvery eyebrow. "Is this a bad time for _you_, Remus?"

"Every moment of the day is a bad time for me, Albus. Don't pretend you don't know that." He couldn't help the edge of anger in his voice.

Dumbledore only walked back to his desk, leaving the door open. He poured a cup of tea serenely. "In or out?" he asked when a quiet minute ticked by.

Remus stepped into the doorway, but found he could go no further. "I don't know, Albus."

"Mm." He sipped his tea and then walked over to pet Fawkes. "Well, I am going to turn in for the evening. Whatever you decide, Remus…close the door behind you."

* * *

Remus sat there, his back against the cool stone basin. The office was comforting; it was close and colorful and full of Dumbledore's warmth, so different from the grey sepulcher of the infirmary. An hour into his sojourn Fawkes began to sing softly. The phoenix song dug beneath his skin into his soul, gathering the tattered ends and braiding them together.

Now dawn was casting her muted fingers on the clutter of baubles that was Dumbledore's office. That pale light and the melody Fawkes had planted in his being gave him strength. They both told him that no matter what he saw in the pensieve, he would survive. In the end, night was always beaten back by daylight…at least for a few hours.

His knees were shaking. How pathetic he was, afraid of a dream…a dream that was not a dream. His hand was trembling, too, as he lifted his wand to his forehead. A part of him knew what he would find.

The silver string of memory clung to the tip of his wand and beaded out and away. Trembling, he released it into the pensieve. It plunged to the bottom of the basin like mercury in water. The drops pooled, massing together into the thing he feared the most.

He almost couldn't do it. But he'd come this far. There was no stopping now. No, the train to self-destruction was express the whole way down…

Remus took a breath and dove into the pensieve.

* * *

"Albus!" Poppy Pomfrey's head shrieked out of his fireplace.

Dumbledore turned, already knowing what news she bore. "Remus is gone?"

"I…" she faltered. "Yes. How did you know?"

The wizard didn't answer. The mediwitch waited patiently. At last he spoke.

"Sirius needs to be moved to a safe house. Not the same one as the others. Tell him to be ready. He leaves at nightfall."

She nodded, perplexed by his acceptance of Lupin's flight. "Albus, I'm worried about Remus. He isn't in good shape right now. Shouldn't we try to find him?"

"Remus must find his own way right now, Poppy. There is nothing you or I or anyone can do."

* * *

Cassius pulled the hood lower over his face. Thankfully, the day had dawned misty and dank and no one would think him odd for wearing the cloak; several people bustling around him looked exactly the same.

Here it was. Ollivander's wand shop. His purpose here was two-fold. One, of course, was to finally get a wand. The other was to begin the arduous task of clearing Selena's name.

He walked in, gathering his nerves. He wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to do.

Ollivander emerged from behind the counter.

"Can I help you, sir?" he asked, eyeing him.

"Um, yes. I need a wand."

"Of course. Just let me know what kind you use and I'll find a replacement for you."

"It's…not a replacement," Cassius said hesitantly.

"What's that?" Ollivander questioned.

"I don't need a replacement. I need…"

"An original?" the wandmaker said incredulously.

Cass nodded.

"How old are you?" Ollivander asked, scrutinizing what little of his face was visible.

Cassius answered truthfully. "Twenty-six."

"And you've _never_ had a wand?"

"Never."

"But you can do magic…?"

Cassius nodded again.

"All wandless?" The man was leaning over the counter now, rapt with interest.

"Yes."

"Show me," Ollivander demanded.

He was a bit taken aback by the man's bluntness, but obliged him. "Accio quill." Ollivander's dusty quill flew across the store and into his hand.

"Another."

Cassius squinted at Ollivander. A moment later the man jumped, startled, as a mouse squirmed out of his shirt pocket where his watch had been.

"Oh!" he said, catching the mouse before it could run away. "Transfiguring without even speaking the spell…young man, you are something. What's your name?"

"I'd rather not say."

Ollivander looked up sharply, tucking the reformed watch back into his pocket. "I see."

"If that's a problem, I understand," Cassius spoke quietly.

Ollivander frowned. "Tell me why you never had a wand."

"I wasn't allowed. I lived with Muggles. I learned magic from my caregiver, who is a witch."

"Still," the man pressed, "at ten or eleven you should have been invited to a magic school."

Cassius sighed. "I never received an invitation to magic school because as far as the magical world is concerned, I'm dead. I died at the age of eight."

He was unprepared for Ollivander to do some wandless magic of his own. He couldn't catch the hood before the other man's blast of wind blew it down. He was revealed. In hindsight, he should have used a Glamourie…but no one had warned him that Ollivander was a cagey little fellow.

"You're a Malfoy."

Yes, that would always be unmistakable. Cassius met his rheumy brown eyes, but said nothing. Realization dawned on Ollivander's face.

"The Malfoy boy, the one killed by--" he stopped short.

"Yes. That one." Cassius cut him off before he could say _his_ name.

Ollivander snapped his fingers, agitated. "Something with a C…"

"My name isn't important. You're not going to tell anyone you met me. If you do, I lose my advantage."

For the first time, apprehension stole into the wandmaker's eyes. "Your advantage against who?"

Cassius put his palms on the counter and leaned forward. "Considering the events of the last few weeks, who do you think?"

Silence reigned for a tense moment. And then Ollivander smiled. "All right, Mister Doe…why don't we see if we can find you a wand?"


	24. The Politics of Death

Draco pulled his gloves on, trying to focus. His teammates were quiet. Things had shifted subtly in Slytherin house; half of them had aligned behind him, and the other half against him. He knew that many of the others led lives that were similar to his. Their parents' beliefs and activities operated parallel to their lives, always there but not intruding. Some were content to believe they never would, but others knew better.

Before his mother had improbably showed up at Hogwarts (and he _still_ had no idea how she'd managed that), it hadn't intruded on his life. Since then he felt like he was in a whirlwind, decisions being made for him, words put in his mouth, his life playing out while he watched from the sidelines. Some of his classmates would find themselves in that position soon enough. Maybe he could teach them something…

He took a breath. It was going to be hard to keep his attention on the game. Cho Chang was a good seeker, but he knew he was better. Besides, she had not been the same since Cedric Diggory's death. Or so he heard; he couldn't claim to know the girl. And it certainly wouldn't make him go easy on her. In the grand scope of things, his losses were greater. He was the school's pity-case now.

He followed his teammates through the tunnel and out onto the pitch. It was silly but the roar of the students in the stands still gave him a small chill. He wondered if his father – his father who had never told him he'd played quidditch – had felt the same way, so many years ago.

Draco kicked off the ground and felt the crisp air plucking the heat from his cheeks. He dodged a bludger almost immediately and yelled at his beaters to pay attention. One gave him a dirty look and the other redoubled his efforts. He was getting used to the two extremes.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cho Chang. Her long hair billowed behind her blue and yellow robes as she circled slowly. She was looking right at him. Pathetic – they were both relying on the other to spot the Snitch first. His team was winning for now, but she could change that very easily if fate decided it.

The Snitch appeared suddenly, behind her and to the left. It hovered. Draco clamped down on the instinct to gun the broom and lunge for it; Cho seemed not to notice it and if he moved too obviously, she would see it. She was a lot closer.

Could she possibly not sense it? It was nearly on top of her! The damn thing almost never stayed that stationary for this long. It was like it was asking to be caught.

Against his better judgment, Draco went up. Up, up, until the goal hoops seemed distant and the lowest clouds made his face dewy. Thinking he'd seen the Snitch, Cho Chang began to rise. He couldn't believe it; the Snitch didn't move. She had gone right by it.

As she neared, adrenaline coursed through him. Just a little bit closer…

She broke the clouds, and he dove. He had a short moment to enjoy the look of shock on her face; she knew that she'd been tricked. Draco dove with a reckless abandon, feeling very certain. The Snitch was his…

The little winged beast tried to evade him. He wasn't having any of it. Cho had reversed herself and was bearing down on him, but it was too late. His hand closed around the Snitch and the game was over.

Lee Jordan's voice echoed across the pitch as Draco held the struggling ball in his hand. "That does it, folks! Slytherin's won another one, and in near record time! Eighteen minutes and eight seconds! It looks like the record for shortest Hogwarts quidditch game still stands, but just barely! If you remember, the record was set in 1978 by another Slytherin team, with the Snitch caught at seventeen minutes, fifty nine seconds by--" Lee stopped suddenly.

"By who?" someone shouted.

"Well, what do you know, folks," Lee commented, recovering. "The top spots are now both held by Malfoys! Lucius Malfoy with 17:59, Draco Malfoy with 18:08, and now in third place is James Potter with 18:41. Congratulations, Draco!" Lee shouted.

Draco smiled weakly, raising his fist that contained the snitch. More people were cheering than he expected. Were those Hufflepuffs applauding him? The Ravenclaws certainly weren't. Wow, even a few Gryffindors were looking at him more favorably than usual. Odd.

He should have been happy, but he wasn't. He didn't mind being second to his father. He did mind not even knowing he had anything to aspire to being second to. And a small part of him wondered where Selena Snape was on that list; he'd taken a look at those yearbooks and she was nothing to sneeze at on the quidditch pitch.

Did she miss it? How long had it been since she'd flown? Did it drive her mad to hide beneath the stands like she was right now? He handed the Snitch to Madame Hooch and drifted to the ground. Some of his teammates were congratulating him; the few stubborn ones gave him grudging nods. He'd earned another week of their good graces. How lovely.

He ducked beneath the stands quickly, allowing himself to fade into the throng of people exiting. He'd been under here before in a chase with Potter. It was much more inviting on foot than speeding eighty miles an hour on a broom.

He was halfway around before he found her. She offered him a small smile.

"I didn't see it, but it must have been good."

He shrugged.

"All right. Business," she breathed. "That's how you Slytherins like it…"

"What did you see?" he asked.

"Your father. A vision of him…and the Dark Lord."

"What happened in it?"

She shook her head. "It's…" she paused, frowning. "He was doing something before the Dark Lord found him. He was hiding something. Something I think he meant for you to find."

His father's words sprang into his head. _Get him before he gets you._

"Yes. He said…he said he'd done something, a sort of preemptive strike." Draco struggled with the words, unused to relating things like that so easily. It was still strange to speak of that night. The potion had made it feel like a dream. A nightmare.

She nodded, pressing her hands together. "Ok. In that case, you need to go to the Manor. It's in your father's office with the big mahogany desk. It will have a gash in it from the letter opener. I saw him doing something at that desk and then hiding it. Where, I couldn't tell you, because his back was to me."

"I can't just go any time, though," Draco said, chewing his lip.

"I'm sure you can get special permission from Dumbledore. Draco, I wouldn't have risked coming here if I didn't feel like this was important. I saw what I saw for a reason."

"I know. I just don't want to arouse suspicion."

"What's suspicious about going to your own house?" she asked.

"It's still being investigated by the Ministry. I won't be alone."

Selena thought hard. "I think I can help you with that, if you let me know when you're going."

"I'll try," he replied. "But I don't think letters are a good idea. Someone could read them…track them…"

"You're right. This was risky…Severus would yell at me," she mused. "But I--" Selena stopped cold.

"Mr. Malfoy?" It was Madame Hooch calling for him. "Are you down here?"

Selena met his eyes and gave him a swift, curt nod. A second later a black panther darted out from beneath the stands, sprinting full-force for the Forbidden Forest.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco turned. "Yes. I'm down here, Madame Hooch."

She found him a moment later. "Oh. What on earth are you doing? You should be celebrating, young man. Quite a piece of flying today!"

He offered her another tepid smile. "I know. It's just…hearing my father's name…I needed to be alone for a few minutes."

She squeezed his shoulder. "I understand, Draco." The elfin woman smiled. "Your father would be proud."

* * *

Sirius sighed, dropping what little he had on the floor. At least they had not made him go back to Grimmauld Place. That might have been the last straw in what was turning out to be a very, very bad month. Instead he was in a cottage on a cliff buffeted by the sea winds. Under different circumstances he might have liked it.

He knew why he wasn't with the others. One, because Selena detested him, and two, if Remus chose to make an appearance and say what he needed to say (or do what he needed to do), it was most diplomatically handled like this. If there was a diplomatic way to handle this mess…

He collapsed onto the lumpy couch. The cottage creaked around him. When Dumbledore had come to him that morning, somber and sedate, he'd known right away. His actions had finally come back to haunt him. He might never see his best friend again. And, worst of all, it was his own fault.

He jumped as one of the windows flew open. Instantly the house filled with cool sea air. The wind banged the pane against the outside of the house, a sharp staccato. He stood to close it when he saw he had a visitor. Perched on the windowsill was a snow-white dove, its head tilted slightly and its dark eyes far too intelligent.

"Who are you?" he asked. He knew an animagus when he saw one – and when he smelled one.

The bird morphed into a man. Cassius Malfoy. "Good day, Mr. Black," he said, extracting himself from the windowsill.

He said nothing. Malfoy had been friendly enough in their initial meeting, but nearly two weeks had passed since then. That was more than enough time for Snape and the rest of the world to fill his head with malicious gossip about the character of Sirius Black.

"Quiet today, I see," the blond said, closing the window and drowning out the moan of the wind. It seemed too silent without it. "You must be worried about your friend Lupin."

Cautiously, Sirius nodded. "I am. Why are you here?"

Cassius made himself comfortable on the lumpy couch Sirius had vacated moments before. "Dumbledore told me to visit you. He feels bad marooning you out here all by yourself."

"Does he," Sirius commented acerbically. He knew very well that Dumbledore didn't feel bad about it at all. It must have shown on his face, because a moment later Cassius stood.

"I'll go."

"No," Sirius said, a little quicker than he should have. "I…"

Cassius sat back down, looking at him expectantly.

Sirius tried again. "I don't know what people have said about me."

"Well, Severus does have some choice words for you," Cassius smiled, "and most of the world thinks you're a cold-blooded murdering Death Eater."

Sirius put his hands in the air, as if to say 'there you have it.'

"I'd go so far as to say that Severus hates you."

"I'm sure he does."

"Why?" The question was free of judgment, and that was why he even considered answering.

"I was…pretty rotten to him when we were younger," Sirius confessed eventually. He felt sorry for some of it, but not as much as he should have. It was kid stuff, after all, and to this day he had a very, _very_ hard time conjuring any compassion for Severus Snape. The man certainly wasted none on him.

"So you were a dumb kid and he holds a grudge," Cassius summarized. Sirius looked at him, frowning slightly. That was not entirely it, but boiled down to its simplest element, it was the best way to explain it. For whatever reason Snape was holding his tongue; Cassius had obviously not been told about what they'd done to Selena. He doubted the younger man would be so sociable if he knew. Selena was his surrogate mother. Harm to others he could tolerate, but something told Sirius that harm to Selena would be an entirely different story.

"Nothing is that simple," Sirius sighed. Cassius was quiet, thinking.

"Do you have any idea where Lupin might have gone?" the blond asked.

Sirius shook his head. He had wracked his brain for hours but no place stood out. The sad and simple truth was that Remus didn't really have anywhere to go. Hogwarts had been his last sanctuary. Now to be under its roof would be quiet torture for him. Remus had nothing left.

"He's a werewolf," Cassius stated. There was no question in his voice, but a small one in his eyes. Damn, he was quick.

"Yes."

"I never met one before."

"There aren't many like him," Sirius sighed. "Most don't try to live normally. Some even embrace the beast. He would never…he's too…he would rather face rejection and ridicule than be what people think he is."

"It must be a hard life."

Sirius nodded. Anyone who took one look at Remus knew that.

"I feel," Cassius said softly, "that Dumbledore isn't worried enough. He seems to think that Lupin is fine, wherever he is. I don't know that I agree."

"He's not fine. If he was fine, he wouldn't have run."

"Selena is worried about him, too." Cassius paused. "She doesn't like you very much, either."

"No one has liked me in thirteen years, and probably very few people before that." It was true enough; his own family hadn't liked him.

Cassius gave him a thoughtful look, and one that was too perceptive. This Malfoy was in some ways exactly what he expected, but in others the complete opposite. It made sense. He had been raised away from all the intrigue and profiling of the wizarding world. Some of his mannerisms were innate, but the rest…

"Well, Sirius Black," he said, standing, "consider yourself liked."

* * *

Remus leaned against the cool glass window. He should have enjoyed the scenery that whipped by outside. It was beyond him now. There was no enjoyment left in life.

He remembered a day two years ago when he'd leaned against the glass of the Hogwarts Express, dozing. He had thought his life was turning around. A job, a place where he had friends, however few, a position where he could do something positive for the children that were being dumped into the war's next buildup…it had seemed too good to be true. And, damn it, it was.

All of this, everything…it was too good to be true. He would never find a place in this world. He would never be able to trust what he was. It was a small miracle he'd made it to thirty six without harming anyone, or so he thought. James and Sirius had delayed the inevitable despair at someone else's expense. The expense of the only woman he had ever loved. And look what his love had done…

He squeezed his eyes shut. Germany was flying by, but not quickly enough. He had to get to Romania. Romania was the black bosom of magic in Europe, the place where dark creatures roamed unchecked. Dragons, vampires, giants, and werewolves – it was the seat of his creation, the archaic cradle of life, and at last he would return to it. There was to be no more pretending. Remus Lupin was done with make-believe.

* * *

It turned out that Draco didn't have to do much of anything in order to secure himself a visit to the Manor. Three days after the quidditch match, on the first crisp day of October, Snape informed him that Dumbledore wished to speak with him.

It was Saturday, so the corridors were all but empty. Draco liked mornings. He was tired like everyone else, but morning was one of the only times the castle was truly beautiful. It was easy to forget how ancient Hogwarts was when it was filled to the brim with teenagers.

He reached the entrance to Dumbledore's office and spoke the password. The gargoyle carried him up. He was not sure what Dumbledore wanted. Probably nothing bad, but Draco steeled himself just in case.

"Good morning, Draco," the Headmaster greeted him, standing aside. His mood was agreeable enough, but Dumbledore was infamous for dropping bombs cordially. His father had told him once that there was no one in the world who could deliver bad news as cheerfully as Albus Dumbledore. What bad news, he wondered, had Dumbledore ever delivered to Lucius Malfoy?

"Have you eaten breakfast?" Dumbledore asked after seeing him to a seat.

"Yes, sir."

"Tea?"

"No thank you."

"All right," Dumbledore stated, taking his seat behind the desk. "I hate to do this to you on such a lovely morning, Draco, but there is the manner of your mother's will to attend to."

Draco blinked, momentarily shocked. That was not what he'd expected. Didn't lawyers deal with wills? Didn't the things that were allocated to him just magically appear one day? He supposed not…

"Normally I would not think to involve a student in this sort of thing," Dumbledore went on, stroking his beard absently. "But there is some controversy brewing."

"Ok," Draco said. His brain needed to restart, and now. "What's the problem?"

"Well, your father is named as the executor of your mother's will."

Draco had never given a single thought to wills. That was pretty normal, considering he was only fifteen. He'd never heard his parents talk about them either. However, he'd never been so foolish as to assume that they didn't have them. They were both much too meticulous for that. "Maybe this is a stupid question, but what is the executor?" he sighed.

"The person who is designated to carry out the will's commands."

"Right. So if it's my father…"

Dumbledore nodded. "He is obviously not in any state to be performing that duty."

"Is there someone else? A backup?"

"There is a backup, but that presents a problem, as well."

Draco's interest was piqued. "Why? Who is the backup?"

"Your aunt, Bellatrix LeStrange."

Ah yes, the aunt he'd never known. She'd been in Azkaban nearly all his life. His mother spoke of her once in a while, and he could tell that she had loved her sister. However, he could also tell that Bellatrix was completely mad. Draco took a breath.

"I understand that she's a convicted murderer and a Death Eater. I understand that she's in Azkaban. But neither of those facts means that she can't execute the will, right?"

"Right."

"Then…what's the problem?" Draco asked, perplexed.

"For one, this particular situation has never happened before. There is no protocol for how to handle it. And secondly, since your father is not dead, some of the powers that be are trying to say that it voids Bellatrix's power as secondary executor."

A sharp, sudden irritation rose in Draco. He didn't care what was in that will. He didn't care what money or object or property his mother had bequeathed him or _anybody_. But to think that the Ministry wanted to bind him in red tape after all that had happened…it was perfectly ludicrous.

"My father isn't going to wake up," Draco said through his teeth. "He's as good as dead."

Dumbledore's face was sympathetic. "That is not entirely certain, Draco."

The agitation was building. He couldn't contain it and found himself on his feet, pacing Dumbledore's small office. He could see what they were trying to do. They were trying to drown him in bureaucracy. There must be _something_ in that will that someone wanted…or that they don't want someone to have.

Draco sat back down and sighed. He wasn't and had never been a mama's boy. Sure, he had spent a lot of time with her by virtue of the fact that she was his primary caretaker growing up, but his mother had not hovered. She had let him do his own thing and been there when he needed her and it had suited them all just fine. But now, as a consequence, he found that he didn't actually know very much about her. His mother had a lot of things, but something important enough to warrant this? He had no idea.

"I have a plan, if you are willing to hear it," the old man said.

Draco looked up, surprised. The Headmaster was no longer talking to him as if he were a student. Right now he was an equal. It was decidedly strange.

"Um…yes."

"You may not like this, but it could work. The first thing you would have to do is legally declare your father incompetent."

Draco grimaced. His head was too full. "What good would that do?"

"It would remove him from the list of executors and give you the power to make decisions in his stead. I was going to suggest you do it anyway, because evidently your father had no living will…"

"What? _Living_ will?" Draco groaned. He really wasn't enjoying this crash course in the politics of death.

"Yes. It's for cases where the person is still alive physically, but otherwise gone. It does happen from time to time with head injuries or spells gone bad."

"For people that are brain dead, then."

Dumbledore nodded.

"And my father didn't have one."

Dumbledore nodded again. God, what a mess his parents were leaving him! Draco couldn't keep the annoyance out of his voice.

"So, no one is appointed to carry out my father's wishes because he doesn't have this piece of paper."

"Precisely."

"In order to be able to speak for him, I have to declare him incompetent."

"Yes."

"And once I've done that…what happens with my mother's will? Aunt Bellatrix will still be named before me."

"Yes. I have my reservations about allowing her to execute the will, though, and so will others."

Draco drew air through his teeth. He had never been so frustrated in his life. He put his head down and tried to breathe evenly.

"Then we're back at square one, aren't we?" he asked as calmly as he could muster.

Dumbledore reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a piece of chocolate. Draco took it gratefully. As it melted in his mouth, Dumbledore dropped another bomb.

"I am prepared to make a motion in the Wizengamot that you should be named the executor of the will. As I said, there is no precedent for this situation. Also, your aunt has quite a reputation. Those two things combined might tip things in your favor."

Draco was taken aback. He knew Dumbledore would stick his neck out for some people, namely Harry Potter, but he'd never imagined the old wizard would do the same for him.

"Could that actually work?"

Dumbledore shrugged, looking almost comical. "It might, it might not. At the worst we'll wind up back in the nest of red tape."

"I don't want to stir trouble," Draco said warily.

"I don't think it would. Most people will expect this from you."

Expect it from him? Draco hadn't even realized there were wills to deal with! There was no way he'd have any idea how to go about this without a lot of help. What did people think he was, some kind of downsized clone of his father?

Yes. Yes, that was probably exactly what they thought.

"All right. I'll do it."

Dumbledore nodded. "Good. I'm sorry to put you through all this."

Draco shrugged. It was what it was. He had exhausted all of his emotions for it.

"One more thing, I'm afraid."

Whatever momentary peace Draco had found was dashed. What else could the old man possibly bring up?

"As you are named in the will, it's your right to see it. You'll have thirty minutes to read it over. Look for anything that could possibly be the reason for this holdup."

"I…what…now?" Draco managed.

"Is there a better time?" Dumbledore asked briskly.

"Er…no."

"I've arranged for a friend of mine to take you. You're supposed to be monitored, but he will leave you alone."

"Take me where?" God, Draco couldn't think of a time when he'd ever asked so many questions.

"To the Manor." Dumbledore gave him an amused smile, the first mirth he'd shown throughout the entire exchange. "Your parents' wills have proven very stubborn. Presumably, they were rendered nearly immovable and impervious to all alterations. One cannot say that they were foolish."

Draco didn't bother to point out that in a span of ten minutes Dumbledore had encouraged him not to give up on his father and then referred to the man in the past tense. Realism was sometimes hard to contain. Draco was learning that the hard way.

So it was that at ten o'clock on October 1, he was going home with an auror named Kingsley Shacklebolt and two missions that he wasn't entirely sure he could fulfill.

* * *

Her will was short and to the point and for that he loved his mother. True to Dumbledore's word, Shacklebolt had left him alone. Everything had been bequeathed to his father, himself, or Bellatrix. Nothing stood out; money, a vacation home, art, jewelry, and other random things, none of which were unusual. He'd been left a sizeable chunk of money and the aforementioned vacation home somewhere in the south of France. Lord only knew if he'd ever receive either. Not that there was much he could do with them at fifteen.

He'd quickly scribbled down the list of items in the will. Now it was time for the other task. He had to get to his father's office. Thankfully he knew the ins and outs of this house much better than Shacklebolt, so even if the auror noticed he was gone, he might have time to double back to this room.

Cautiously Draco felt for a door. The house was full of these, the ones that were built to fade into the wall when closed. With a cursory look behind him, Draco pulled it open and moved quickly into the next room. Room after room blurred by. The dining room. The parlor. The sitting room. And, finally, his father's office.

It was smaller than one might expect and set toward the back of the house. There was a bigger office upstairs, but for some reason his father had never liked that room. This one was simple yet ornate. The walls were a shade of amber and dark wood furniture filled up the space. Books lined the walls as well as random trinkets his father had accrued over the years. All in all it was unremarkable; it looked just the same as the last time Draco had been in there.

Selena had mentioned the desk. Cautiously Draco approached it. There was the gash in the ancient wood, just as she'd said. All around it…was that blood? Draco touched it and his fingers came away clean; it was dried. It was in the rough shape of a handprint.

He took a breath. The blood formed a dark, crusted line down the front of the desk and a startling little pool between his feet. There had been a struggle here. Was this his father's blood?

"What are you doing, kid?" Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice startled him out of his thoughts. Draco whirled around. Ten excuses came to mind but something told him Shacklebolt wouldn't buy a single one.

"Please," Draco said quietly, "just give me five more minutes."

"You're not supposed to be in here," the dark-skinned man barked, his eyes darting around the room.

"I know. I know…but please, I have to find something. If I don't do it now, it will be gone by the time I can come back."

"You're compromising a crime scene."

"A crime scene?" Draco snorted incredulously. "Here, I'll solve your crime for you. Voldemort gets angry. He stabs my father and/or mother with the letter opener." Draco jerked his thumb toward the abandoned letter opener resting on the floor, its long point dull with blood. "End of story."

Shacklebolt closed his eyes and sighed. "All right. Five minutes, but no more. I will carry you out of here if I have to."

"That won't be necessary," Draco bit off.

"I'm just letting you know."

Draco put the other man out of his mind. He only had five minutes and still no idea what he was even looking for. He registered that Shacklebolt was not leaving him alone this time. Well, if Dumbledore trusted him and he had done this very risky favor, he had to assume that he was trustworthy.

There was nothing on top of the desk. Nothing in the drawers. He looked behind it; nothing but dust bunnies. Nothing had fallen to the side. Nothing beneath the legs. What in the hell was he looking for? Had it already been removed by 'investigators'?

A sudden swell of emotion hit him. He had clamped down on them so well, but this was undeniable. Draco was discovering more and more lately that he hardly knew the meaning of pain. A shout ripped out of him and he kicked the desk. That was a mistake; he was fairly sure he'd broken his toe, and he braced himself on the blood-spattered surface of the desk.

"Easy, boy," Shacklebolt said. His voice was hard but his face was sympathetic.

There were a hundred things Draco would have liked to say to him. He bit his lip, riding out the pain in his foot. Voldemort had had free range of the house after taking out his mother and father. He had probably intercepted whatever message that had been left. This was hopeless.

"Forget it," he said. "Let's go." He pressed his palms into the wood, ready to push off and balance himself on his uninjured foot, when his base of support was suddenly gone. This was just not his day; his hands slid forward, throwing him off balance, and he fell ribs-first into the edge of the desk. "Son of a--" but the curse was plucked from his lips and the pain forgotten when he looked down.

The desk had a secret compartment. _Of course_ it did. The panel blended in perfectly, sliding on an embedded track. This had to be what he was looking for! Hesitantly, Draco reached into the dark compartment and felt around. Shacklebolt stepped forward, his wand lit.

There was a piece of paper inside. One piece of paper, smooth and new. Draco pulled it out carefully. He recognized his father's handwriting.

_Fermez les yeux dans le mur_

_220677_

_291277_

_300478_

"What does it say?" Shacklebolt whispered.

Draco shook his head. His French was woefully bad in spite of his parents' best efforts. "I don't know." _Je ne sais pas_, his mind mocked him. It was one of the only phrases he remembered.

Shacklebolt frowned. "It's time to go, Draco."

Draco folded the piece of paper and shoved it into his pocket. Then, after he leaned over and slid the hidden desk panel back into place, he faced the auror and nodded. Missions accomplished…sort of.

* * *

Hermione smiled. Snape had slipped today and given her detention. He had been very careful not to in the last few weeks. She was sure he was trying to avoid her, to right the strange intrusion of equality that had marked the beginning of the year. It was just like McGonagall had warned.

But today he had been so angry that it overrode his plan. He must be in a fine mood; he'd set them a very difficult potion to make, said it was going to be graded as a midterm, and told them that if he caught anyone talking they would fail. Naturally, Ron had asked her for help. She hadn't spoken, but Snape didn't say anything about writing notes.

He was the only professor who would punish her more than the mooch she was helping. However, she knew he still remembered their little agreement. She had been true to it; Neville hadn't blown up a single cauldron since the beginning of the school year. The grimace that passed over his face after he announced her week of detention told her that he might just hold up his end of the bargain.

Today she made it down to the dungeons unimpeded. Slytherin house had been curiously dormant lately. She had noticed that Crabbe and Goyle no longer associated themselves with Draco Malfoy, and that Malfoy himself seemed to have lost the desire to make others miserable. Maybe he really was changing.

She knocked on the door of Snape's office. Another smile came to her face as she heard him sigh from within. He wrenched the door open a moment later and then stalked back to his desk without a word.

She blinked. Yes, he was in a fine mood indeed. Hermione entered cautiously and closed the door behind her.

"Grade these," he said unceremoniously, dropping a stack of papers onto the table.

"Are you serious?"

"Entirely."

Hermione sat down and looked at the first paper. It was an essay on the magical properties of moonstone. "There's no way," she said, shaking her head. "I can't be as…"

He raised his eyebrows, daring her to say it.

"They'll know it wasn't you," she rephrased. It was best not to push him.

"They're first years and it's their first major assignment. So no, they will not know it wasn't me."

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not your personal assistant."

"As it happens, you are. This is an actual detention, Miss Granger, for helping that fool of a Weasley." He set a pot of ink in front of her with a clack. "When you're done with that pile you can take a book and go."

Ah, so he was not reneging on the deal. It was clear, however, that he had no intention of conversing with her. Even so, this 'real' detention was a bit off the mark. She had a feeling he would never trust anyone else with grading. In a strange, twisted way…it was a compliment. She smiled as she took out her quill; she had successfully gotten under his skin.

She looked up ten essays later. To her great shock, he was gone. Not quite gone; the door to the adjoining room (his personal chambers?) was open a few inches and the light was on. Curiosity flooded her but there was no way she was going there. She did possess some self-control.

He emerged a few minutes later and shut the door behind him. He seemed to be more relaxed now. In a gesture that was uncharacteristically kind, he leaned over her and removed half the stack of papers from the pile.

"Can't have them thinking I'm soft," he muttered, "since I'm sure you're giving them overly charitable marks."

Hermione flipped through the stack she'd graded. "Actually," she ventured, "some of these are…appalling." When she looked up, she could tell he was determinedly biting his tongue. The tricky bastard – he _wanted_ to talk to her and wouldn't let himself.

"I hope mine weren't this bad," she baited. If anything was going to make him talk, it was a wide open shot at a Gryffindor.

He kept his stubborn silence. The only indication of the commentary that was doubtless passing through his head was the slight twitch of his lips. Damn it. One more try; if this didn't work she was giving up.

"How is Selena doing?"

His quill paused. "She's fine." He seemed to be debating whether or not to say more. "She's…trying to get back to her predictions."

Hermione nodded, setting another essay aside. That one, belonging to a Foster McGovern, hadn't been too bad. Only one mistake. Snape might have a chance with him.

She looked at him from behind her quill. This most recent storm had blown over with less damage than expected, but another one was always brewing. "How are _you_ doing?" she asked seriously.

"I need you to grade those papers, Miss Granger, not attempt therapy," he responded snappily.

"I can grade papers and talk at the same time. Imagine that?" she returned.

"As glad as I am that your skills extend beyond mere clerical tasks, I would request that you restrict your activities to grading."

Hermione glared at him. He was enjoying this. She could play, too. "My apologies, Professor, but I am unable to conform to your request at this time."

He put his quill down. "You," he enunciated, "are a rude little harpy."

"Why don't you give me more detention?" she suggested, borrowing some of his snark.

He folded his hands and tried to pretend that he was more annoyed than he appeared. "Miss Granger, are you determined to push every button I have this evening?"

"Only if that's what it takes."

He sighed. "I don't know what you think this is. You have been clever enough to insinuate yourself into my better graces, but you are not and never will be my friend."

"That's a pity," she said sharply, scrawling a grade on top of the last essay in her pile. "You could use some of those." When he didn't reply she looked up, unsure of what to expect. Was it possible that she had actually rendered him speechless?

She had definitely hit a nerve. It was a small miracle that she could evoke a reaction. That meant…that he cared what she thought? No, maybe he was just surprised that she could keep up with him, or that words that might have bothered her before had no effect now.

"If you are done," he said at last, "then leave." One look at his face told her that she would get no more from him and it was best not to try.

Hermione dropped the stack of essays on his desk and then packed her backpack. On the way out she plucked a book from his shelf just to spite him and tried to ignore the slam of his door as it echoed down the dungeon corridor.

* * *

_The man was tall, thin, the kind of person who looked emaciated but in reality was just the bearer of a fortunate metabolism. She had seen him every night for six nights straight. He always looked the same. Brown hair slicked back, peeking out from beneath a grey fedora. Blue eyes, a large, prominent nose, and thin lips. His suit matched his hat; grey and old fashioned, the trousers held up by black suspenders over a white shirt, and the jacket slung over his shoulder. Every night he would appear to her, smoke a cigarette, give her a meaningful look, and then disappear._

_She had no idea who he was or what that look was supposed to mean. The strangest thing was that she could swear that something was wrong with his eyes. Tonight she was determined to get a better look._

_Selena moved toward him as he lit his cigarette. It was a long, thin cigarette, the kind very few people smoked anymore. Everything about him was anachronistic._

_"Want a drag?" he asked, startling her. He had never spoken before. His voice was low, smooth in spite of the cigarettes, and slightly accented._

_"No, thank you," she answered, walking a circle around him. "Who are you?"_

_He smiled and smoke seeped out the corners of his mouth. His eyes were still obscured by the shadow of the fedora's brim. "You know."_

_"I'm afraid I don't."_

_"Then you will when the time is right." He dropped the cigarette and stubbed it out with his foot. The ground beneath them was cobblestone – she had not noticed it before._

_Selena reached out and tipped the brim of the hat upwards. His eyes were closed._

_"Let me see them," she said, certain that it was important._

_He smiled. "As you wish."_

_She took a step back. There were spiders in his eyes. Not in them, behind them. Inside his pupils…_

Selena lapsed out of her trance with a sharp inhalation. Cassius looked up from the book he was reading, half of a licorice wand sticking out of his mouth. She smiled at him.

"Shut up," he murmured. "I had no idea this wizard candy was so good."

"Did I say anything?"

He shoved more of the candy in his mouth and resolutely went back to his book. The strange shock of the vision was lessened by the normalcy of it. Thank God for Cassius…she had missed him. She had never wanted him to have to deal with this. She could tell, too, that being in this world was changing him. She wanted it to be for the better but there was no guarantee of that.

A moment later Cassius began to cough. She looked up, startled. Something had spooked him and he had nearly inhaled the licorice wand. He doubled over, still coughing, and fell to his hands and knees.

"Cass?"

Time was slowing. Flitwick appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. He looked similarly stricken. His lips formed words that took a moment to process.

"Selena! Behind you!"

He tried to pull out his wand but his hands were shaking. He fumbled and it fell from his fingers. The wood clattered on the floor.

She turned, expecting a quick death by the way the two men had reacted. Her eyes were filled with black. It was a dementor. How had it gotten into the house? And why didn't she feel its presence?

"_What is it?"_ she spoke hesitantly, hoping that things had not changed. Since her escape from Azkaban she hadn't given them much thought. Not with all that had happened…

The dementor extended one long, bony finger. It pointed at Cassius. He was on the floor, his hands on his head, his chest heaving.

"_Let us move away from them. Their memories are too painful."_

The dementor nodded slowly and glided toward the door.

"Selena!" Flitwick called. He, too, was having difficulty with his recollections. He leaned against the doorframe, his hand over his heart and a pained expression on his face.

"It's all right," she said with a smile. "I'll be fine." She walked over to him and picked up his wand, placing it in his hand. "Cast a shield Patronus. Block yourself and Cassius."

He took the wand with a still-trembling hand. "They'll drag you back to Azkaban. Give you the Kiss."

The dementor hovered in the door like a grim shadow. She looked from it to Flitwick. "They won't, Filibus. I promise."

_I promise._

He seemed to come back to himself. She spared a glance to Cassius. He was completely incapacitated by the demons in his brain. Selena made a mental note to teach him the Patronus charm as soon as possible.

She walked toward the dementor, the warmth of Flitwick's Patronus at her back. The dementor moved out into the sunlight. She looked back; Flitwick crouched near Cassius, steadily holding the wand from which the silver glow emitted.

Then the sun was on her face, the grass swaying around her ankles…and before her, a misunderstood demon swathed in black.

"_You pointed at Cassius."_

It turned its rotting face toward her. _"Yes. We wished to tell you before, Mistress, but the boy deflected us."_

She frowned. They had tried to contact her? And what boy were they referring to? _"When?"_

"_When the one you loved was hurt. At Hogwarts."_

The one she loved. Lucius. She was that transparent to them. Selena took a deep, calming breath. At Hogwarts…she had been sedated. She might have slept right through their visit, but the others would not be able to do the same. The boy, then, was Lucius's son Draco.

"_What is wrong with Cassius?"_

"_He…"_ the dementor paused, its sonorous voice fading.

"_Tell me. Please."_

"_His memories are not his own. He sees his brother's life when we are near. We cannot explain it."_

"_How is that possible?"_

"_We do not know. Normally when one experiences the memories of another, it means that they are disguised. Polyjuiced. But he is not."_

She paced. It made sense; Polyjuice only changed the physical appearance. One's worst memory would still be the same, regardless of who a person looked like on the outside. So how could Cassius be experiencing Lucius's memories? Her stomach dropped. She knew that things in the Malfoy house had been less than idyllic. She knew that both Lucius and Cassius had been on the receiving end of beatings more than once. But a mere beating would not be enough to cause the reaction she had seen. The way Cassius had crumpled to the floor…the way he held his head and moaned…

What on earth had happened to them?

"_I wish for you to do something."_

"_Anything, Mistress."_

"_I want you to go to Lucius. See if there is anything left of his mind. You are more powerful than me…"_

"_We cannot simply walk into St. Mungo's."_

Selena bit her lip. It was true…security would be on them in seconds and they would be repelled before they ever made it to Lucius. It was an impossible wish. Unless…

"_If inmates of Azkaban are injured, are they taken to St. Mungo's?"_

"_No. Azkaban has its own hospital within."_

She sighed. _"Then it is impossible."_

The dementor bowed its head. She could feel its shame and frustration. _"We exist to serve you, Mistress. Give us some other task."_

"_It is still too soon for action. But watch the ones marked as his servants. Listen to their whispers…they will hear of his exploits in one way or another."_

"_We will."_ The dementor declined its head and made to withdraw.

"_Wait."_

It turned back, attentive. Selena walked up to it slowly. She tried not to hesitate as she raised her hands and gently lowered its hood. She had not forgotten that this fearsome creature had been a man or a woman once; which one she didn't know. She touched its clammy, decaying cheeks and forced herself to look at its mouth. The lips had rotted away, exposing abcessed gums and broken yellow teeth.

"_You told me you were psychics. Men and women."_

It nodded silently. Its slippery flesh left juices on her fingers.

"_Did you have a name?"_

"_A name?" _It paused for a long, long time. If Flitwick and Cassius looked out the window, they'd think she was mad. That was if they didn't already. _"Yes, we had a name."_

"_What is it? I wish to call you by it."_

The dementor pulled away, though it was reluctant. It stood a foot away from her, its cloak billowing softly in a wind that did not exist. She didn't know how much time had passed when it finally spoke again.

"_I…"_ and the voice was no longer that sonorous, collective boom, _"was called Franco. Franco Domine. But there is no use in remembering, for I will never be him again."_

"You have never stopped being him," she said aloud. "Franco."

_Thank you._

And he was gone.

* * *

Dumbledore looked at the hastily scribbled list of items and then proceeded to stare into space for nearly three minutes.

"Sir?" Draco asked.

The headmaster returned to himself. "Yes. Well done, Draco. I think I have asked enough of you today. I'll send word to Professor Snape when things are arranged for the situation with your father."

"Actually, sir, I have a few questions," Draco spoke up, hiding his trepidation. Dumbledore looked mildly surprised; he adjusted his spectacles on his nose and set down the piece of parchment.

"I shall answer what I can."

"I've been trying to understand what there was between my father and Professor Snape's sister."

"It's quite simple, Draco. They were in love."

Draco shook his head. "Everyone keeps saying that. But my father would never…he'd never consider a halfblood."

"That is where you are wrong. Your father was a very different man when he was young. We all are, I suppose." Dumbledore stroked his beard, frowning only with his eyes. "And back then it wasn't common knowledge that the Snapes were halfbloods. It still isn't. I wouldn't go spreading it."

"I won't. But none of it makes any sense. If he was willing to love a halfblood, to consider marrying her and ruining his own bloodline, then how did he end up serving the Dark Lord? That's the kind of behavior that would…that would make him an enemy, a target…"

"Love is a tenuous emotion, Draco. It is so strong, so overwhelming at times, that it makes us do strange things. Particularly when we lose it."

"So you're saying he became a Death Eater because of _her?_"

"No. That's not what I'm saying at all." The headmaster sighed. "Truthfully, I have no idea why any of them chose to become Death Eaters. I wish I had…" he trailed off. "But young men make up their own minds, for better or for worse."

Draco didn't look satisfied with his answers. In all honesty, Dumbledore wasn't too thrilled with them, either. It had seemed so simple before; Lucius had given up everything to be with Selena, and when he thought she had cheated on him he had done a 180 into the arms of bigotry. Yet, no matter how much that perceived betrayal hurt, he was beginning to think that the Lucius he had known in school could never have embraced the master of the man who killed his family. Then again, it was clear that mental illness was rife within the Malfoy clan. Marius was evidence enough of that, and Lucius himself had had a major breakdown after…

Hm. Yes, after the Dark Lord's defeat by one-year-old Harry Potter. Dumbledore frowned. For three months Lucius had been nearly catatonic. When he came to, he played the Imperius card. At the time it was convenient and no one could conclusively prove he was lying. So Lucius had escaped the first war unscathed – mostly.

Dumbledore sat back. He glanced at Draco; the boy was lost in a thicket of questions. Albus felt like he was, too, except he had just hacked away a particularly large branch. There was the distinct possibility that for once in his slippery adult life, Lucius Malfoy had told the truth.


	25. Mnemosyne

Severus was nervous. Things had been much, much too quiet since the incident in September. There had been only one meeting since, one in which he'd been instructed to leave Draco at school. Little had happened at that meeting; it seemed more a regrouping session than anything else. The Dark Lord promised he had plans and Severus had no doubt it was true, but he wasn't sharing any of them with anyone.

Voldemort knew what he had done and he was taking strides to correct it. It was an altered course, a turning of the wheel of the ship of bigotry, but if anyone could steer it back it was him. That ship would always sail on but sometimes it was better captained than others.

He sighed, his finger tapping against the desk. It was close to the holidays and as such he would have expected the students to be out of their minds with the promise of a few weeks of freedom. They seemed subdued today for reasons unknown.

Subdued was not a word he usually applied to Gryffindor/Slytherin double potions. So far this year the two houses had stayed in their respective corners. He knew Draco was stirring the pot of doubt in Slytherin and as much as he hated to admit it, without provocation from their adversaries the Gryffindors were content to keep to themselves.

His eyes fell on Hermione Granger. Annoyed with her inability to ignore Potter and Weasley, he'd paired her with Neville Longbottom in the front of the room. The other two did not like her so much that they would willingly sit in the front of his classroom. Harry and Ronald skulked in the back, botching their potions together.

She had the patience of a saint. She was belaboring the same point to Neville for the third time. He knew it wouldn't process no matter how many times she tried to explain it to him. Longbottom simply had no knack for potions. With her monitoring, though, disasters had been kept at a minimum.

He didn't know what to make of her and had stopped trying. She was an ungrateful little snot, acrimonious at best. He realized that his fingers were drumming a nice little solo on the desk now. He hoped it would annoy her.

Oh, listen to him. The little nit had gotten so far under his skin! He hadn't slipped since the last time, when she'd given him a taste of his own sarcastic playacting. Was that it? He could dish it out but not take it? Maybe. Few people were brave enough to return his sentiments and few could do it as well as her. If there was one thing Hermione Granger was good at, it was studying. If her subject happened to be a person she was no less successful; she had studied him and memorized him and learned to regurgitate his fine examples.

What was it all about, though? His mind drifted for a moment, back to the Infirmary at the beginning of the school year, back to the girl who had touched him very little shyness and even less hesitation. What was wrong with her? And what was wrong with him that he couldn't get her small, warm hands out of his bloody head?

The students all looked up at him when he visibly snapped back to himself, seeming to twitch. The Slytherins merely looked perplexed; their head of house was not prone to daydreams. The Gryffindors looked wary. He gave them all a scowl and rummaged for something read. Yes. That would keep his mind in safe places.

_Perennial Potions _wasn't helping. Really, it was kind of alarming. He didn't care if she had some kind of warped crush on him. It wasn't the first time. It made him wonder, when young teenaged girls (or boys, there had been one boy) developed a strange infatuation for his 'mysteriousness' and utter cruelty. What kind of environment had they been raised in that they could find that attractive? Ah well, their frontal lobes were not fully developed and he desperately hoped it could be attributed to that.

But he had a hard time believing that Hermione Granger's frontal lobe wasn't fully developed. The girl was a genius and possessed a degree of logic that didn't exist at her age. Without her the other two would be flunked out, dead, or some combination thereof.

So why did she come on to him, however subtly? She had to know better. She _did_ know better. She could get herself expelled, never mind getting him sacked. Nothing should terrify her more than that. No threat or insult he could toss out held more power than that. What could he do, then, if she was fully aware of a devastating consequence and chose to do it anyway?

To her credit she had backed off after the last encounter. She had not pressed him, attempted to contact him, anything. Perhaps she knew she had overstepped a boundary. Perhaps he had overstepped one, too. Boundaries were notoriously capricious this year, prone to jumping and wiggling about and sometimes not existing at all.

He sighed, turning the page of the magazine for show. He hadn't absorbed any of it. He'd read it already and probably knew everything it said anyway.

A tap on his desk cause him to look up from the magazine. He hoped that he wouldn't come face to face with her now, but there was a good chance since she and Malfoy usually alternated finishing first. Thankfully today it was Malfoy.

She was only three minutes behind him. She set the potion down on the desk and looked right at him. It was plain that she expected him to ignore her. Well, no, today he wouldn't give her the satisfaction. He met her eyes and held them.

She was equal to the task. Hermione Granger just couldn't say no to a challenge, could she? The stalemate lasted until Pansy Parkinson jostled her from behind, demanding,

"Get out of the way, Granger!"

Hermione gave the other girl a dirty look and ceded the battle.

"Miss Parkinson, in the spirit of the holidays I would ask that you refrain from gauche behavior in my classroom," he said dryly. Several students laughed, knowing that he didn't give a damn about the holiday spirit. Most of them were done now and a stream of students moved toward his desk.

She ought to have left by the time he looked up, but she hadn't. Her eyes met his for a brief instant, and then she turned in a flurry of dirty-blonde curls and was gone.

* * *

_Intertwining dark light_

_And the face of fright_

_Sweet opium rays_

_Erase the days_

_And you hang sinister, bright_

_On the canvas of my night._

_You pulse in me_

_I struggle and break free_

_I'm born and I die_

_I smile and I cry_

_For you are all I see_

_And I cease to be._

Selena put the scrap of parchment down with a lead stone of knowledge in her gut. She had written this nearly twenty years ago. She had been spending so much time teaching Cassius the Patronus charm that she hadn't much time to try for new predictions. Divination wasn't like that, anyway. That was something few people understood. Prophecies, predictions, fortunes – they came when they pleased. They didn't bow to human schedules or conveniences.

Somehow it always seemed to take a good knock on the head to spark the outbursts of sight. The Sorting Hat had begun it all, spearing into her brain. She had been so young that she thought the barrage of odd images she saw that night were only dreams. And then the miscalculation on the quidditch pitch where Newbright had barreled down upon her without realizing it – that had triggered a stream that seemed never to stop. She had brought an extra notebook to her classes to jot down whatever she saw. It had flowed and flowed and flowed and…

Her mind flared to life. No, no, not this, not now…

* * *

"_Spaseeba," the cab driver said around his cigar as she handed over the coins._

_She stepped out into the dark night. They didn't have the money for streetlamps out here and the moon was nowhere to be found. Clouds covered the stars. It was utterly black. Still, her feet knew the way._

_As she walked, gravel crunching beneath her boots, a smell drifted on the light breeze. She lifted her head slightly, inhaling. Lilies. Her mother liked to grow them for Easter._

_The small house loomed up suddenly, a dark shape against another shade of dark. She fumbled for her keys. When she finally felt out the right one, she lifted a hand to the doorknob. It was not where it should have been. Selena put her hand out in front of her. It met no resistance. The door was…_

_Her hand went to her wand. There was someone in the house who didn't belong. She didn't care if it was a wizard or a muggle or Hades himself; they were going to taste the business end of her wand. She prayed her mother had gone out._

_She couldn't see a goddamn thing. If she lit her wand, though, she would only be a moving target. She edged forward. She knew the layout of her mother's tiny house well enough to navigate the dark rooms._

_In the dark it was hard to realize she was falling because there was no up or down. Selena hit the ground awkwardly but managed to bite off the cry that wanted to escape. So much for the element of surprise. She lay still for a moment, listening for movement, for any hint of where the intruder was. She heard nothing._

_Selena felt for what had tripped her. At first she couldn't figure out what it was. Then she felt a pattern, etchings…engraving. Flowers, curlicues…it was the leg of a decorative table that her mother kept in the hall. A leg, shattered messily at the end, and nothing else._

_The house remained silent around her. She knew she couldn't keep groping around like this. If someone was here she would never be able to take them without light. Selena climbed to her feet and whispered,_

"_Lumos."_

_A halo of light spilled from the end of her wand. Now she was a target. So what…if the Death Eaters had come all the way out here to get her, what could she possibly do?_

_But no cloaked demons emerged from the shadows. The house was destroyed, ransacked…what few possessions her mother had were ripped, cracked and scattered all over the floor, or missing entirely. She stepped over unidentifiable rubble, her heart beginning to pound harder. Please, let her mother have gone out…_

_No. No such luck…_

_A sob ripped out of her when she saw her. Her mother was on her back, too still, a shocking pond of blood spread on the floor behind her head. A bludgeoned saint…_

_The next seconds, minutes, hours…were blank. She came back to herself later, lying next to her dead mother on the floor. Her wand had gone out._

_Shakily she relit it. And then she froze. Coiled a foot from where she sat there was a snake, not tremendous but not small. It had bands of red and yellow and black all around it and it stared at her, still. Its tongue tested the air once._

_In the moment it took her to think of a spell, it struck. She cried out as its fangs sank into her hand. Instinctively she pulled at it with her other hand. That was a mistake; it caused the creature's fangs to gouge a bloody track across her knuckles. But it dislodged and she flung it across the room, hearing its ropelike body hit the wall. Trembling, she swung the light around to see where it had landed._

_It was already coming at her. This time she was ready._

"_Evanesco!"_

_It incinerated from the inside out, barely having time to writhe in its cindered death._

_She told herself it was a horrible coincidence. There were snakes out here. The door was open. It had come in from the outside. It wasn't the first time. But this was no grass snake, no harmless thing the width of her pinky. This, her fuzzed mind registered, could be poisonous._

_There was a spell for removing venom. She knew there was. God, where was Severus? Severus would know it. A flare of anger hit her and two fat tears splashed on the wooden floor. Severus was not here. Severus was at Hogwarts. Severus, who had…_

_No._

_Her mind slammed shut, preserving her. She struggled to her feet. The wrecked house swam crazily as she stumbled toward the kitchen. What the hell was that spell? Fuck, she was bleeding. The snake's fangs cut deep._

_With clumsy hands she turned on the water. It stung as it cascaded over the slashes, rinsing away blood that welled up again seconds later. What the hell was the spell? What the hellwhatthehellwhatthehell…?_

_It flared into her head._

"_Exsanguini venomi!"_

_The wound stung fiercely and she watched cloudy drops of liquid rise from it. Five opaque drops, like little pearls of death. With a trembling hand she cast them into the sink. They swirled down the drain and she collapsed._

_She hadn't gotten all of it. Some of it had been cycled through her system but hopefully she had been quick enough that it was too little to kill her. Her head and hand throbbed malevolently. Her vision still swam._

_The wand flickered out again. Fucking hell. Her mother…_

_The perfectly parallel stripes on her hand wouldn't stop bleeding. Lucius would be able to heal this. Oh, but Lucius wasn't here either. Lucius would never be here. Lucius was – _

_A loud pop sounded and in the darkness Selena screamed._

* * *

That was the night her mother had died and the night Cassius had come to her. The pop was the house elves, Goochy and Binky, apparating into the house with Cassius in tow. She had no time to fall apart. Not with a murdered mother and a nearly dead child in her care.

Falling apart had come later, when, in the daylight, she spotted a glisten among the snake's heap of ash. A diamond ring. An engagement ring. That was when she knew. Lucius had planted the snake. Lucius had killed her mother. Never mind that there was no evidence of magic in the house. Never mind that muggle burglars could have done the same. The snake and the murder couldn't be unrelated…could they?

She had told the people at the hospital that Cassius was her half-brother and they took her tears to be out of concern for him. But really, those never ending noiseless tears were for something else entirely.

The nail in the coffin was the letter. Composed messily with a bandaged hand, she had written to Severus. She was not on speaking terms with her father and so Sev would have to relay the news. She wondered if the man would even care…

_Severus,_

_I know you are in no state for this. I wouldn't write if it wasn't important, so please don't throw this in a fire or a bin or rip it to pieces. Please read this._

_Mum is dead. The muggles call it 'blunt force trauma'. It was made to look like a muggle robbery. I know it wasn't. There are other things…_

_Sev, I think Lucius was involved. Please…I don't know. I don't know anything anymore._

His response came the next day. It was short and blunt and impersonal.

_Lucius wasn't involved. It was muggles._

Enclosed with it is a clipping of the Daily Prophet. Lucius was in St. Mungo's recovering from being stabbed by his father. Lucius was a victim. The house elves tried to tell her. They tried to tell her that Marius went mad and her gut knew that Lucius would never succumb to that madness…but the ring. The ring!

There was nothing else from Severus, just that scrawl and the clipping. Numb, she sold the ring to pay for her mother's funeral. Neither brother nor father showed up. Even now it made her want to flay him alive.

Selena breathed. The paper was crumpling beneath her fingers. Severus hadn't been in his right mind at the time. She knew it like she knew the lines on her palm. It wasn't his fault. If he had it to do over, he would. She had forgiven him a long time ago and there was no use dwelling on it now.

She jumped when a hand fell on her shoulder. She turned to Cass's wide blue eyes.

"Do you want--" he stopped short. "Hey, are you ok?"

She nodded, hastily barricading the foul memories in her mind.

"Do you want tea?"

She nodded again, opening and smoothing out the piece of parchment that had started the whole downward spiral.

"What's that?"

"One of my old predictions."

He sat down next to her, obviously in no hurry for the tea. "Figure it out yet?"

"Read it. I think you'll be able to solve it."

He took the parchment from her and read quickly. Once, twice, a third time. Cassius frowned and shook his head.

"It's about a werewolf," she offered.

Cassius nodded and read it again. "Remus Lupin?"

She nodded sadly. "Wherever he is, Cass…he's coming to terms with what he is."

"Isn't that good?"

Selena shrugged. That all depended on what terms he came to.

* * *

Remus lay on the cold ground and knew he should get up. He should get up and go inside and wash himself. But there was no one out here, no one at all, not a soul that cared if he froze to death. There was just him and the snowy conifers and the shadowed mountains.

His torso was stiff with dried blood. None of it was his; he only tore at himself when he was confined, as he had been at the Shrieking Shack. So he had killed last night, but not people – there were no people, he had made sure of that. Animals he could live with.

He sat up gingerly and looked around. There was the carcass. He frowned. It was huge; an elk, perhaps. Were they called elk here? It was nearly picked clean, all bare bones and empty skin. He could not have done that himself. As ravenous as he knew he became when the moon overtook him, he couldn't eat an entire elk. Perhaps he had help, or perhaps he'd been out so long that the vultures had the time to scavenge it.

He stood up, grimacing. It was a mark of his state of mind that it didn't at all bother him that he'd savaged the creature and swallowed its flesh raw. Meat was meat. Humans were the only carnivores that bothered to cook their meat, and when the moon sat like a fat white cue ball in the billiards table of the sky he wasn't human.

In three months he had accepted it. There was no one out here to brew Wolfsbane and he couldn't do it himself. He hadn't the ingredients, the skill, or the drive for it. He crouched down by the animal and gathered up what was left of its skin. It was a good thick hide and there was no use in wasting it. It had proven to be colder than expected in this hidden valley and what little clothing he'd brought with him was inadequate.

For all the stories and legends, Transylvania was not so bad. True, it was silent, isolated, dark, cold, and the brooding mountains held more than enough atmospheric menace to put off the bravest wizard. But so far he had not encountered a single vampire. Wisely, they kept to themselves. He'd seen a dragon resting on the mountaintop three peaks distant and reveled in it; it was the first time he'd seen one beyond a photograph or a heavily sedated specimen on a chain. A free dragon scratching its blue scales and shaking out its wings and tail, causing small landslides in the process, was something to behold.

There were other werewolves here, though. He was certain of it. He had heard them during his prior transformations and this time he was fairly certain he'd shared a kill with them.

His thoughts were interrupted and a second later, confirmed. Two people were coming toward him in a similar state, nude and disheveled and painted with dead grass and blood. His dinner pals and members of the midnight tribe. It was a man and a woman. The man was picking his teeth with a shard of bone. He could see both of their scars. The woman's was a raised, misshapen crescent; the wolf that had bitten her had literally taken a chunk of her side with it. The man was missing his left arm below the elbow.

She was taller than her companion and he found that odd because the man was not what he'd call short. Her hair was black, thick and curly, and he wondered how long it would take her to wrest the knots from it. His hair was dark blond, straight, falling in a messy curtain to his shoulders. He held off on observing their faces; sweat, blood, and dirt would obscure their true appearance.

They stopped a few feet away. Remus said nothing. He didn't feel exposed or uncomfortable. They were like him. They understood. The man stepped forward.

"Can you help us, mate?" he asked in a thick brogue. "We strayed far from our home last evenin'."

Remus nodded. When he turned, they followed. He didn't know what to say to them. He had never spent this much time in the company of his own kind, because for so long he had refused to fully accept his lycanthropy. He was still in those clichéd stages of grief; first the denial, though he had been so young that denial had been more his parents' game. Next was the anger; to this day he had plenty of that. He had bargained his little heart out two years ago when he accepted the job at Hogwarts. Now here he was, seated nicely in his depression, waiting…waiting for acceptance.

He led them to his shack in silence. Once inside he had to crack a small smile; it wasn't fair to call it a shack when it had running water. Thank God he had paid attention in Sprout's Herbology classes. He doubted anyone else in his year could remember how to construct their very own aqueduct.

"Thank you," the man says. "We just want to wash up."

"Of course," Remus found his voice. "Anything you need, just ask."

The woman moved toward the makeshift loo and Remus heard the water turn on. The man appraised him for a long minute. He busied himself with the elk hide, inspecting it.

"I'm Desmond," the Scot said suddenly. "You're new 'round here."

Remus nodded and held out a hand. "Remus. I arrived here at the end of September."

Desmond clasped his hand briefly. "We heard you these last few moons. Why didn't you seek us out?"

"I wasn't sure how I'd be received."

Desmond tilted his head to the side and a blade of brittle grass fell from his hair. He didn't notice it. "Are you just changed?"

Remus couldn't control a small, mirthless laugh. "No. No, I've been changed for twenty-nine years."

Desmond's nostrils flared and a slightly pained expression settled across his features. "You smell like Greyback."

"He was the one that bit me."

The Scot's face twisted. "Same here, eight years ago. I can smell that son of a bitch ten miles away." He frowned. "But twenty-nine years…where did you live?"

"England."

"Among regular folk?"

Remus nodded. Desmond looked impressed and horrified at the same time.

"Well bless your heart for doing it. I couldn't."

"Obviously if I'm here I couldn't either."

"People are cruel," the other man said needlessly. "And so is fate. But we need not dwell on it."

Remus nodded. He liked Desmond very much already. "And the lady?" he felt brave enough to ask. She still had not emerged from the bathroom.

"Ramona," he answered. "Bitten three years ago."

"I can introduce myself, thank you," Ramona said from the washroom, her first words in his presence. Her accent snapped sharply through the air, lending it a certain electricity.

"Yeah, sorry, love."

"No matter," she said, emerging. She was startlingly clean now, a whole different person without the muck. That seemed to be all she had to say; she marched past them and went back outside. Remus blinked, unsure what to make of her. Desmond gave no explanation, but with one look Remus could tell she was his. His mate.

"It's your home, Remus. I wouldn't think to go before you," Desmond spoke up, gesturing toward the loo. "Ramona has no such scruples but I try to make up for her."

Normally Remus would not have considered leaving someone he'd only just met alone in his house, however pathetic it was. This was different. He went and took a very fast bath in lukewarm water, scrubbing vigorously and managing to rid himself of most of the night's grisly evidence.

When he was done Desmond took his turn. Ramona was still outside standing in one spot and staring at something he couldn't see. The woman was stark naked in the cold. He offered her clothing, which she accepted with a curt nod. She dressed outside and resumed her odd vigil. Either she hated him or she was in her own world. Maybe it was a little bit of both. Upon his exit Desmond didn't seem bothered by the lack of clothing, but eventually took the pajamas Remus pressed on him.

"Exactly how far did you stray last night?" Remus asked, noticing that the sun was making its brief midday appearance above the peaks. In one night a werewolf could travel a significant distance, but Desmond was missing an arm. That made him the proverbial three-legged dog and undoubtedly slowed them down.

"Oh, about ten miles."

"Will you be able to make it back by nightfall?"

Desmond nodded. "Aye, we'll find some thestrals. They're agreeable enough." He paused. "Will you come with us? You don't have to be alone out here."

"No, no. You and Ramona have a life. It isn't my place to interrupt that."

"It isn't just me and her. There are a whole bunch of us, a nice little town, with a few roads and houses and everything."

Remus was floored. An entire town of werewolves? "How many?"

"About 250, I'd say. We're inside the border of the conservation lands so no one comes in who doesn't belong."

"How do that many werewolves coexist?" He couldn't imagine that town during the full moon. Wouldn't they fight and kill one another?

"We get on all right," Desmond shrugged. "We know our pack, Remus."

Yes. Even though Remus had never spent much time around other werewolves, he knew what it was to have a pack. He'd had one once, although the members of it had been a dog, a stag, and a rat. It was unconventional but effective. Even in his wolf form, scent told him that they were allies.

Desmond went outside to join Ramona and Remus followed. He smiled; two thestrals were picking at the remains of the elk.

"Guess you don't have to look far," Remus commented.

"Aye. Fortunate."

Ramona coaxed the creatures away with soft words. She appeared gentler than she had for the entire hour and a half of their strange visit; she stroked the beasts' spiny backs and leathery wings, almost cooing.

"Sometimes I think she likes animals more than people," Desmond said. "Pretty strange when you're both."

Remus couldn't think of a response. It was becoming easier to admit to himself that he _was_ part animal, but he couldn't say it with the kind of blind acceptance the Scottish man did. And Remus was the one who had been a lycanthrope for nearly three decades! He'd been bitten so young and raised to believe it was a controllable illness. It was…mostly. Merlin, he was still so mixed up.

The two of them mounted the thestrals. Before urging them on, Desmond turned back to him. "You're welcome to join our pack if you want. You'll find us ten miles east, across the river. And thank you, Remus."

He could only raise a hand in acknowledgement as they rose into the air. The words hit him like a sucker-punch. Memories of his last pack rose unbidden in his mind. Oh, God, what he'd give to have that strange family again. Even after Sirius and James did what they did, he could not stay angry at either of them.

James was the brain of the group back then, the ego to Sirius's id. Remus was the superego. Together the three of them made a full person. Peter was along for the ride, a vestigial structure that was sometimes needed, sometimes not, but could be lived without. Peter was their appendix – a place where shit built up and cankered and one day exploded.

When it was their conscience doing terrible things, how could the two of them possibly know how to act? Sirius's instinct had been to make it like it never happened, to protect his friend. James had arrived at the same conclusion after weighing options and pros and cons. Stuck between impulse and morality, his logical friend found the course with the fewest consequences. To him…to James, Remus had the greater need, right and wrong be damned.

What he wouldn't give to have another pack. As misguided as his teenaged best friends had been, they had done it for him. They had done something grievously wrong to protect him, to save him…because they loved him. After three tormented months his anger rested solely on himself. Now if only his guilt was that easy to sort through…

He would belong with these people. That was something he had wanted his entire life. Still, Remus wasn't sure he was ready to relinquish his identity as a wizard and trade it for that of werewolf. A part of him still wanted both. So he waited, frozen in functional indecision, for his gut to tell him what to do.

* * *

The air was so cold that it hurt the inside of his nostrils. Draco sighed, walking up the long grounds of the Manor. It didn't usually get this way until January but here it was, the twentieth of December, too cold to even snow.

In the last two months little had changed. His father was still in St. Mungo's and still not responsive. He still couldn't figure out the man's last cryptic message. Close the eyes in the wall, it said. Draco wasn't stupid; he could figure out that it probably referred to a portrait somewhere in the house…but it was a big house and there were well over a hundred portraits scattered throughout. How was he supposed to know which one?

Trial and error was his only recourse. He hadn't had the time or the opportunity to explore during the fall but now two long, empty weeks awaited him. At least the Ministry had finally concluded their investigation of the house; now he could rifle through it without any fear of watchful eyes.

Watchful eyes…

Draco stopped in his tracks.

* * *

_"Who is that?"_

_Lucius looked up from his shuffle of papers. Draco, eight years old and suffering from clinical stupidity, had followed his father into the gargantuan office at the top of the stairs. He wasn't allowed in here and had received a sound verbal warning for previous attempts to enter._

_Lucius turned. The tremendous portrait behind him claimed most of the wall between the two large windows. The man in it had brown hair with a touch of grey at the temples and piercing blue eyes. His posture in the painting was arrogant as all the family portraits were._

_"That," his father said after a moment, "is your grandfather." This seemed to be another one of his unpredictable displays of patience._

_"Mum's father or yours?"_

_"Mine."_

_Draco moved closer, wanting to see the title carved into the gold nameplate. "Marius Mercutio Malfoy," he read. "1930 to 1978."_

_Lucius had gone back to his paper-sorting, seemingly comfortable with Draco's perusal._

_"He was--" Draco squinted, trying to do the subtraction in his head, "forty-eight. How old are you, father?"_

_"Thirty."_

_"Is it normal to die at 48?" Draco contemplated his newly discovered grandfather with a faint expression of worry. Lucius gave a rare chuckle._

_"There are many wizards who live to 148. So no, it is not normal to die at 48."_

_"Good," Draco declared. "I don't want you to die in eighteen years."_

_"Thank you." His father's tone had returned to the one adults used when they didn't give a knut what you were saying because they were thinking about other things. Nevertheless, he had a faint smile on his face. "And since we're doing maths, how old will you be in eighteen years?"_

_Draco frowned, not wanting to mess up in front of his father the one time he had his attention. "Twenty-six."_

_"Excellent. I shall have to tell everyone how smart you are."_

_Draco was nearly delirious with the praise. It was even rarer than his father's (mostly) undivided attention._

_"What do you do when you're twenty-six?" he asked. "Do you still go to school?"_

_"No. By then you have a job."_

_"Like yours at the Ministry?"_

_"Possibly."_

_Draco fidgeted. His father really never came into this room; there was dust on top of the massive desk. Draco traced shapes in it. "What else?"_

_"Hopefully you get married and have a family."_

_"Get married?" Draco wrinkled his nose. "To a girl?"_

_"That is the general idea." His father crumpled a piece of parchment and banished it._

_"Girls are gross."_

_"Mm hmm, they are, at least until you're thirteen."_

_He was about to ask his father what happened when you turned thirteen when he realized something. The portrait of his grandfather didn't move like all the other portraits did. It was completely still._

_"How come grandfather Marius doesn't move?"_

_Lucius was silent. Draco had begun to fear that he'd said something wrong when his father finally spoke. "He does move. Watch his eyes." He crumpled up another piece of parchment and without warning, tossed it underhand across the room._

_The piercing blue eyes followed the arc of the parchment until it hit the floor. They stayed on the ball of paper for a long moment and then returned to their original gaze. If his father hadn't told him to look for it, he would have missed it completely._

_"He is always watching, Draco," Lucius said. "His eyes never rest." His father's tone of voice confused him; soft, as if he were telling a secret, and flat. It changed abruptly into something harsher. "Do not come in here again."_

* * *

Draco had gone in there again. Eleven times, to be exact. It amused him to no end to watch his grandfather's eyes whiz about in pursuit of whatever he flung around the room. It was a tie between Exploding Snap and Fizzing Whizbees for the best reaction; in both cases Marius Mercutio Malfoy's eyes whirled crazily, trying to track all the different objects. Even now it brought a smile to his face.

It had to be that portrait. It was the only one in the entire house that didn't move or speak or seem alive, aside from those eyes, of course. Les yeux dans le mur – the eyes in the wall. There was more to that painting than his father had let on. More to the entire room; why else would his father have avoided it like the plague most of his life and now, in pseudo-death, entreated him to unearth its secrets?

_He is always watching._

It made a chill dance up his spine.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore didn't much care for St. Mungo's. It was a great hospital and the place he wanted to go if he was injured, but like many others, the sickness within its walls discomfited him. For this reason he had held off on going to visit Lucius Malfoy. He was in the best hands he could be in. Now, though, an idea had coiled in his brain and he needed to act on it.

The ward was bedecked in Christmas decorations. Their loud, colorful display was in marked contrast to the residents. This was exactly why he avoided this place. Merlin help him if he ever wound up in this section, vacant-eyed and beyond salvage…

Lucius was a ghost of himself. Even in unconsciousness he looked supremely exhausted. He was thin in spite of the nutritional potions, but at least they had not cut his hair. That would have made him a stranger.

Albus sat in the chair by his bedside for a few minutes. He observed the activities of the ward. It was not busy today; the rush would begin on Christmas Eve when families came to visit their loved ones. A nurse moved here and there throughout the ward, but all in all he was alone.

He reached out for Lucius's chart. He wasn't supposed to do this. It might prove fruitless, anyway, because it was not Lucius's current situation he was interested in. It was that other visit to this ward roughly fourteen years ago. In so many years the records might have been compiled into some vault ten levels below and even the Minister of Magic would have trouble accessing that.

The parchment toward the back was old and faintly musty. It had been archived, he suspected, but brought back out because of the similarity to Malfoy's original malady. Jackpot.

The symptoms were almost identical. Several mediwizards and mediwitches had weighed in on possible causes.

_Patient's condition may indicate excessive use of Unforgivable curses, particularly the Imperius. However, there is no known syndrome associated with overuse of Imperius as there is with Cruciatus; Malfoy's symptoms are almost entirely unique._

A Healer Johannes Bern had signed that statement. Dumbledore stroked his beard, wondering if Johannes Bern was still working at the hospital. He continued to peruse the records, glancing up from time to time. Lucius was brought in the second of August, 1982. He was kept for roughly three months; that put his recovery and release around Halloween.

Halloween, 1982. A massive victory had come on that day. Many Death Eaters that had escaped the first aggressive auror sweeps had been captured. A poorly planned strike at the Ministry was foiled and it seemed that they had at last stopped the defibrillating heart of the war.

There he went using medical metaphors. Damned hospitals. Albus turned the page. This was interesting; a visitation record. It was peppered with the obvious: Narcissa and a very young Draco, one barely legible scrawl of Severus Snape, and then, at the very bottom, something unexpected. Three times, from the twenty-fourth to the twenty-sixth of October, was the name of his sister-in-law.

_Bellatrix LeStrange._

_Bellatrix LeStrange._

_Bellatrix LeStrange._

Why would Bellatrix visit him alone? Perhaps Narcissa had asked her sister to check on him, but why then? Three days in a row so close to Halloween…Albus would eat his hat if Bellatrix hadn't been instrumental in that failed plot to overtake the Ministry. They hadn't captured her until a few days later, on Bonfire Night. He suspected that Bellatrix would always be the last one standing when it came to the Dark Lord; oh, this was shady indeed.

He sighed and wished that Narcissa was alive. That would have made things easier. Whatever one had to say about her, it could not be that she hadn't loved her husband. Evidently his ever-present adversary Tom Riddle was reaching the point of irrational paranoia, for if he had bothered to interrogate Narcissa even a little, he would have discovered that she knew next to nothing about Karkaroff. The blame would have fallen squarely on Lucius and perhaps that would have been enough to push her into a change of allegiance.

It was too late now. It was becoming increasingly obvious that Lucius had been more a victim than he ever thought. He had definitely been under the Imperius curse the first time around. During his last year of school he was ripe for conquest; a shattering breakup, a mad father, and the sudden death of his entire family was more than enough to weaken him to the point that he couldn't fight. After all that maybe he hadn't _wanted_ to fight.

Albus placed the chart back into its slot. It disgusted him more than many things Voldemort had done. The sheer opportunistic cruelty of it was enough to make his blood boil. Worse was the fact that only a few months ago Lucius himself had displayed that same ruthlessness in efficiently framing Selena. Was it possible that the same madness that had destabilized his father was now destabilizing him? Could Lucius really have come to enjoy the things that Voldemort once forced him to do?

He rubbed his temples. No one here could give him answers and he couldn't divine them out of thin air. The only people that could confirm or deny his suspicions were in Azkaban or Tom Riddle himself. Albus strongly suspected that any attempt to speak to Bellatrix LeStrange would be a colossal waste of time, and Tom was obviously out of the question.

Albus sat there in the chair, arms crossed, until a polite mediwizard informed him that he had to leave.

* * *

Draco hadn't looked at Marius Malfoy in six years. His childhood memories of the portrait were benign, even happy, but now it felt different. Now Marius seemed haughty, coldly sinister, and his sapphire eyes too aware. Suddenly Draco understood. His father's refusal to talk about his family, to come into this room, and that odd tone that had crept into his voice in that fragment of memory – it all came back to his grandfather.

Though he burned to know what secrets the portrait held, Draco had no idea how to close his eyes. They never closed. They didn't even blink. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Draco knew he was smart but he also knew that he was usually limited to one or two great epiphanies per day. He was not going to figure it out immediately.

There were other things he could do. He could find out what the hell had happened between Marius and his father, and how and why the others had died. There would be no record of it here. But there was a record in his uncle's head…and it was time that he heard it, no matter how painful it was.

* * *

Harry savored the early morning quiet of the Burrow. For once he had awakened before even Mrs. Weasley. In another half hour she would wake and the hustle and bustle of the holiday would begin. Christmas with the Weasleys was always a dizzy blur of food and faces, as famous for their indomitable cheer as for their swift squabbles that he got sucked into and let out of in the course of minutes. They were amazing in their magnanimity.

He loved them, he really did. They were the closest thing to a real family he would ever have. His aunt, uncle, and cousin, though truly blood relatives, were people that he never wanted to spend another minute with once he was old enough to leave them. He often had a hard time believing that Aunt Petunia was his mother's sister. True, living in the shadow of a magical sister must have smarted, but Harry had the feeling that she would have turned out the same even if Lily hadn't been a witch. Nothing needed to be said about Uncle Vernon or Dudley.

Harry pulled the blanket tighter around his body. He would be able to see Sirius later, which pulled him away from ugly thoughts about what would await him at Privet Drive when the school year was over. He hoped Sirius was coping well on his own. Owls had been scarce and one never could quite grasp tone or mood in a letter.

As for his own mood…well, it had been surprisingly good for nearly two months now. Any normal person wouldn't have thought twice about it, but Harry was not used to life without frequent emotional upheavals. It was sad how used to it he had become. In its absence he felt an empty sort of anxiety…the feeling that he _should_ be worrying about something and the fact that he wasn't would come back to bite him in the ass in the future.

Yes, so far this school year had been very, very quiet. The first month had been business as usual, but then…all had settled. He was doing well in classes and he hadn't fought with either Ron or Hermione since September. And the person that always stepped in to make his life just a slight bit more miserable had been scarce, if not invisible since the attacks on his parents. Even Snape was more composed than usual.

None of that worried him as much as the illusion of peace did. Voldemort had come back with a bang and followed it with the equally spectacular murder of the Malfoys, and then – nothing. Such inactivity could _only _mean that he was plotting. And the last time he had so much time to plot, it had resulted in his resurrection, Cedric's death, and Harry's near death. In less than one hour last June, Voldemort had almost accomplished everything he needed to pave the way for genocide and world domination.

This peace, this waiting…it sometimes made Harry sick with apprehension. What was he doing to counter? What was _anyone_ doing to counter? He was going to have a discussion with Dumbledore as soon as he got back. He couldn't be idle anymore.

He would enjoy this holiday, though. For a few more days he would let himself pretend that this was real peace. The door creaked slightly and Harry looked up. It was Mrs. Weasley, poking her head in to check on them. She winked and withdrew a second later. Harry smiled, all other thoughts dashed from his head. It was little moments like that one that always reminded him why he would bear all of it…and more.


End file.
